Watching the Fire

 

Watching the flames

in a fire pit flicker and flirt

with the logs, watching the

fire tease the wood, starting

to smolder, then ignite and

a burst of hot fire explodes.

 

Taking a step back,

as my mind was wandering,

lost in the strange eroticism of

the flames. I was transfixed by

the fiery gyrations of the naked

flames.

 

Licking my lips, took a sip

from the cold beer in my hand,

and tried to relax my over excited

Puritan brain. Aghast at the overt

loss of virtue in the swirling cloud

of backyard fire.

 

Overheating in the inviting

warmth, tempting my thoughts

into lurid dalliances of imagination,

mirages really, in this desert of contact,

too heated for the time, knowing only

the chills waiting away from the lustful light.

 

The fire, spitting embers into the

night air, swirling overhead as if

the imagined longings beyond this

solitude could be carried by the wind

into the minds and bodies of those

whom we lust after.

 

The fire, burning in the dark,

warming the ends of forgotten

sensitivities and kindling those

delicate fibers of memory, when

passion was always hot and on

the edge of blasting incandescence.

 

Another cool sip to simmer the

hot blood, another step back,

from the fire, can’t take it with you,

but don’t want to leave, an embrace,

burning through the body, to lose,

to the cold.