I’ve spent years trying to hold a fire in my palms,
Fire fabricated between you and I.
It’s that fire in your eyes when you take the snuff – the stuff of your dreams –
of which I have no part. The life of nights that holds you captive
as I once hoped to hold you.
It’s exactly that appeal that keeps me captive:
the fact that (though I come close)
nothing and no one can keep you. Because you are the light.
You’re bathed in a skylit glow and you blaze with the lava of a thousand suns
You should never be held because you should fly. You mesmerize me
But your gaze turned towards me doesn’t smolder and burn.
No, not with fire. But you are a twofold beam, one that shines and another that supports
my very core,
for you are my love.
With you I never sought to hold any fire,
nor even try.
From years past it was always a macrocosm of celestial lights
that we always tried to deny.
It was always a pulsating beat
that passed between our bodies
effortlessly penetrating matter.
Kindred spirits born out of the same star.
A power of the cosmos.
And the gaze held by each other holds
the blaze of ten thousand fires
as that undulating force flows
through, over, between us
and I get lost in the vortex of your eyes.
Yet you are not my love.
How strange to be torn between a force branded by humans and a force born out of the ether?