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Roisin Sullivan Sep 2018
Light breaking through the clouds.
I sit with my dog on my lap,
My cat curled by my head
And an autumn breeze blowing in.

There’s no sound but breathing.
Smoke from incense curls in the air
Joining steam from my tea
Smelling of roses and jasmine.

The temple is at peace.
My mind and my body are not.
I sit at the altar
Praying my thoughts will burn away.
Kewayne Wadley Apr 2018
And like incense our scent takes to the air.
Ascending before we fall.
Her and I.
We burst into fire.
Our eyes a gaseous mixture. 
Ignited by the touch of skin.
Kindling the many thoughts we keep of each other.
A crackle blown out.
Accented in desire,
Our yearning ignites.
We hold ourselves unselfish,
Keeping warm.
Separate stems bonded as one. 
Our inner voice visible. 
Bypassing worry, our doubt.
A piece of us both, dissipating in a slow burning.
To give more than we've taken in unspoken communication.
We fell in ash.
Our scent a prayer sent to heaven. 
To always remain this way. 
Even after our extinguishing.
May we linger.
Forever more.
Falling fast asleep in each other's arms.
Leading each other to a place we call love.
Until the last ash drops
Kewayne Wadley Apr 2018
To my nose she was a stick of incense.
Filling me whole, her eyes.
The ashes fell,
Spacing her walk.
With smoke closely trailing.
The sun quickly set.
There's no where in the world I'd rather be.
An empty room filled by you.
A hint of spice mixed with something sweet.
The steadiness of warmth no matter day or night.
To relax and fall into deep sleep.
The smoke dancing through my dreams
In wait to be lit again
Vick Mandrake Feb 2018
Have you ever touched a flame?
I don't believe I have.
My body has burned
on coals and embers.
My fingers have scorched
on stovetops and lighters.
My hands have followed
sweet candles and incense.
And my eyes have danced
with the flickering dames.
But I ask you again,
if it isn't too much,
have you ever touched a flame?
Can a flame truly be touched?
Lady Ravenhill Sep 2017
The essence of
Your spirit
Sweet burning
rachel martin Mar 2016
My mouth is dry with the taste of the smoke and yearning,
Incense sticks lit on my tongue with a lick of whiskey lighter fuel.
Burning down to each moment where the ashes of you
Would fall off my tongue,
Until there was nothing but ashes by the end of the night.
I like the way freshly cut grass on a warm Saturday afternoon smells, whilst I sit in the sun and sip on coffee, breathing in the fresh air.
It is almost like being reborn and getting to experience your senses for the first time again.
I like the look of the smoke that is given off by lit incense as it burns down.
The beautiful ripple effect, then flowing off freely into the room, relaxes me.  
When I close my eyes and breathe it in, it reminds me of sitting in front of a fire place, with my gaze set on the flames;
But, more than anything in this world, I like the feel of his presence.
He is nostalgic.
Bringing me thoughts of comfort.
He is both the smell of freshly cut grass on a Saturday afternoon and the sight of rippling smoke emitted by incense.
He is my nostalgia.
Ram B Dec 2015
a flame sparks
fuses into lavender
beauty diffuses
smoke, scent,
Freedom, joy, love
earth, wind
but lavender.
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