Fire stirs gently
In the depths of my chest.
Hot rocks, rolling
The molten stones down to

My stomach. The
Ache is quelled, substitute
To flame. Piping
Cold nectar, as gold,

Drawing only the
Boldest flames, dragon-like,
From my throat, my eyes,
My thoughts,

Invoked. Strong,
Stirring-gold, brazing,
Golden flames. Quell
The pains of my

Productivity.
Sooth the raw burns
Of my purpose,
Or lack thereof.