How could one paint a flickering flame
Which dances in the wind,
shines of its own from within,
and scorches paper or canvas touched?

Likewise, how may mere words enscribe
The dance of my inner joy,
the luminance of my happy love,
or the fire of my stirring passion?

For if my words could speak my joy,
they would not sit still upon the page,
but would dance like a dervish before thee,
and leap and laugh and spin about thee singing!

And if my phrases could shine like the love I hold,
no light wouldst thou need to read them in the darkness,
but their illumination would enliven and reveal the beauties
which both thee and me hold hidden within and between ourselves.

And if these lines could burn like my passion,
this page would be aflame in your hands (as often am I)
and their speaking aloud would leap like flame from mortal tounges
touching us in secret places where the deepest fires are set and kept.

Before thy eyes, within thy arms, beneath thy touch, I am silent
For my words are dancing across the stars for their joy,
And my pretty phrases are lost in the shining of my love,
And my lines sit like coals upon my tounge, too hot to speak...

Look deeper, hold tighter, and touch me again and again
Feeling that flame which laughs, shines, and burns within me
Growing larger, brighter, and hotter in the space between us

Making warmth in the moment and
kindling a hearth to endure for moments yet unseen....