The fire danced.
Like a ballerina does.
Graceful. Enchanting. Lethal.

It danced away on the matchstick.
It was born to ****. To burn.
Just like she did to discern.

What her passion was.
To find what she was all about.
Just like the fire. Bright. Searching. Predatory.

The fire changed colour.
Blue. Sea green. Orange. Yellow.
But not the ballerina. She was stagnant.

She is like the fire. Out to get. Out to burn. Out to amaze.