is it bad to think
you speak for me?

do you whisper for me,
are the puns in your poems
meant for me?

how unfair of me to think this,
when my mind is always on someone else
every three days.

is it wrong of me to think this?
to feel my chest warm up
to your homemade fireplace?

thoughts always rush through my mind,
if i am wrong or right,
are you wrong or right,
is this wrong or right?

how can i find these perfect places
between your words and writings?
can i rest on them,
the promises in your poems?

you left me cold
like a long burned-out
chunk of coal
I stopped glittering
because I knew
that I was not of gold

Irreversible impulse
You are sealed in amber
Embedded in my chest
As a jewel
With momentum surging in your eyes
Bringing back the sparks
To the fireplace
Where shadows dance with flames
Vividly reliving the experience
Lighting up the forge of the wordsmith
Awakening within me
Feeding air to the embers

hold me closer and tighter
like i wouldn't know how to let go
wrap your arms and make me warmer
as the eyes of the night fade, he will let us glow

your fingers on my neck fire sparks against my skin
as our snarled hands dance with every stroke
you pierced at my cold heart, i bleed the light from within
your arms are my fireplace, i fret no more about the snow

Brick, metal or stone,
A corbeled brick crown
Acts as a drip to create
Ambiance for heating a room -
Ancient fire pits
Vent smoke through open holes.

The best way to gauge
Is not, and never was,
Intended to heat the air.
One of two horizontal metal bars
opening in a hearth to sweep the ash.
Warmth on cold days and nights,
One of many flaws that I have found.

The inside is a metal piece
Reflecting heat into the room
With metal arms mounted on it,
Which swing and hold words above.

The sides of a heart
Has its opening near the throat.