So brightly her flame burns for me,
and no one can hold a candle to it.
When she says my name I only seem
to be less and less able to handle it.
Yet still she bathes me in white hot light
and I am relentlessly pulled closer.
Like fascinated moths on a summer's night
stuck inside of a streetlight enclosure.
I was upon her fire, cast deep into that flame,
illuminated from my old soul to the tip of my brain.
When out stretched for miles my shadow became,
everything I've put behind me, now swaddled in shame.
Out, she reaches,
to touch my hand.
But I'm all dried up
and turned to sand.
In, she breathes, all of those
ridiculously stinky green ounces.
And now I'm lost, I suppose,
in the Sierra Nevada Mountains.
Were I only a critter
then maybe I could've stayed with her,
forever trapped in a locket
or suffocating deep inside of her pocket.