This is a tender love -
tentative and bittersweet

Oh, I could never tend a garden
I lack the patience, the sensitivity

How could I be trusted with
a little warmth,
a frail, embering coal,
a glow almost ceasing?

I could
crush it up,
***** it out
easily

There is violence in me,
do you know?

This is fire you play with,
this glow

You know I’m quite sure
I am the Devil’s own

Yet I try not to walk down those roads

(But, oh, how they feel like home.)