drunk on fire
I stir your seawater where fire balances high on oil
You clasp my candlefire, wick's motioning coil —
A sweating kind of missing
A burned open kissing
The glass shared between us two
Flames in our faces as we move
To the synchrony past
Our dressing these masks
These temperatures rising in veins of you and I
God, brief tourniquets in time —
Where I drown my highbrow in your heat
This hard body now heartbeats
This translation
My intoxication
Copyright © Paige Hind | Year Posted 2025
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