Did
your love
incinerate
everything
you are,
or was
there a slow burn,
skin and pretenses
melting like wax?
Did his eyes bite
your wick, the very heat
of them eating
the struggling fibers,
Or did he have to breathe
on the spark to give life
to your resisting embers?
Did you emanate a special
Apple-Cinnamon or Vanilla aroma
from his touch,
or did your unwilling body
yield its special scent
of soapy musk;
the nervous sweat
from his proximity?
When he left,
Did you minimize like water spilled
from an overturned glass: holding a shape
from what's left, or will I hold your hand,
and crush it, finding only
an empty shell?
Reason for writing:
I was writing a love poem for a poetry class, and looked
at the candle on the shelf above my desk. It reminded me of how some candles burn down in the middle, leaving a shell on the outside that looks perfectly fine from the side. I then decided to shape the poem like a candle to give it more effect. I submitted it because it's one of my favorites, and I hope other people will read it and like it too.
Birth sign: Not entered
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