Icarus. Flying too close to the sun.
You and I
Beneath the snow of ash you grab my hand,
We kiss. Lips taste of mist.
In the embrace
Our hair blankets gray, reeking of gasoline.
A naïve flame, a spark
It cannot touch us
We choose when, to calm the waters
When to ignite the flames, when to,
Put it to rest in favor of the waves
Pulling us down into the white, the maelstrom,
And our lips scald the others.