I was taught that a man is a house without a fire.
A shelter made to protect those near from the elements of the
outside world.
Some hardened structure that was much softer on the inside,
but housing a maid that was ordered to keep the blinds closed.  
A house lacking the warmth of pure passion and emotion,
because they were always tempered with cold logic.

Yet the words that fell on your ears never escaped my lips without
the heat of passion propelling them.


You were taught that a woman is a fire without a home.
Bright and intense, but without protection from the elements of
the outside world.
Some radiant energy that is too warm to touch,
but enclosed by a lantern to keep others safe from your burning.
A fire lacking the understanding of cold logic and reason,
because the flames always flickered with the winds of emotion.

Yet your ears cooled the heat of my words and translated the
meaning that they carried.


I need no fire to start my inner passion,
and you need no house to protect you from the world.
I wonder why we were taught these things
when they never made any sense in regards to the two of us,
and why every single time we are together
I feel like at any moment
we might start setting houses on fire.