Dylan Wong Poet Prose Poetry

Burning Woman

Burning Woman

I am watching
her embodied animation;
in exaggerated intonation.
Lightning ricochets about
in eyes
threatening to ignite my addiction.

I wish she would share her fire.

Brows invert; speech sharpens
A needle into my skull.

She is right, as always.

But this humble fuel will remain cold.

Then at night, when lights burn low,
I am left to rub sticks together
shoot inconsequential sparks.
Nothing will ignite her
until Morning comes.

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