A flick of flint creates a flame
which dances still upon your face.
'Til wind pours in and fills this place
and fires quench leaving no trace.

You click again with furrowed brows
and silence then - you're counting down.
The orange embers as you inhale,
Your fingers tremble and shadows pale.

Grey ashes fall, each taking turn
Smoke climbs the wall as we both burn.
I catch a glance of steady eyes
lost in a trance of midnight skies.

I turn to watch but see no stars
Just sky - pitch black and clouds of tar.

- Mollie Keech