A faint tiny tear
Can feel like a replacement arm
Leg or eye

In the beginning, there was a box,
Filled with tiny wax figurines.
In it, there were me and you,
Eclectic velleities, forgotten dreams,
Sparks that lit the world alight.
Now your heart was content, but mine
Wanted more.
Flying becomes soaring,
Asking to imploring-
Reaching to seizing,
Sparkling to burning
Until all the stars in the night sky
Are gone
Until all the fire burns away our
Perfect world
I hold onto you tighter than I’ve ever had before,
Because
You’re the only thing
That I needed
Since the beginning.

Then your flame began quivering,
Perspiration dripping down
Your half-melting face, and I
Realise too late what I had done
And then suddenly
Without warning, without goodbye
You’re drowning within yourself,
And on impulse,
I fist my hand and crush your flame,
And it dies. You die.

I'm left kneeling
by a pool of you
by a pile of ashes,
and dancing smoke
back to where we started,
back to where we ended.

In seclusion and focus
long enough to settle in,
every word or phrase
becomes an understatement
with a greater pause
and reflection to it,
whether we sense it
or not

You shall know thereby
a word or message’s
been right
if your Bowel Heart
trembles at it
whilst Mind can’t wrap its head
around it
(pun intended,
as they say)

Words like
“Syria”,
“Arabia”
or
“Aleppo”
somehow as beautiful sound
like oil pastels
on beige
found