Sunday, April 15, 2007


Who is this looms above me in the gloom,
His heat so close my skin bursts into flame,
Who grips my head so tight and sets me free,
Though not free to escape his arms, his room?

Who is this in my clothes, my skin, my name,
Whose flesh is kissed and crushed, who’s made to see
That life without this power’s merely doom,
That love without this power’s just a game?

Let that be him I love, let this be me,
Though not what either was — we can’t assume
That any part of us survives this claim:
That what we are together’s meant to be.

Oh, let me bathe in these flames every night,
And I’ll make every shadow blaze with light.

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