My Candle

The scent of the struck match lingers like an unseen specter. The smell is a surgeon's scalpel to the unscented air of the room. The fire devours the match as it slides closer for a lingering kiss against the stiff waxy wick. The transference of passion complete the match perishes to its burning ecstasy!

The candle's blaze causes encroaching shadows to delay while the candle drips bright red tears down its slim smooth body.

"Why do you weep," I ask the candle.

"How quick the ones we love die leaving us to burn for them until we, too, join them in the darkness," it sobs.

Comments