if love were fire
it lives in the forget-me-not heart
skipping across they keyboard, masked as rhetoric
burning through your cheeks on cold days
and at night
it dances on the tip of your tongue
and heats the arms (but not the hands) with which you hold me tight.

but if love were fire
it lives in the muscari-blossom mind.
your cast-iron heart, burning hot to the touch
your words, gently warmed
your eyes, brightly lit
your fire is contagious, it rips through me
never quite burning me out.

if love were fire
it think it lives in my snapdragon heart
it tries to to work its way out of me through my actions
to express itself in my words
constantly present but never sufficient
always prevailing but never saving
perhaps reflected, in the shape of a candle flame
in my flattered eyes.