A kiss out in the cold
sparks reincarnation in the cells,
pieces of me that want to invest more moments of being held -
protected against the elements
while we have a quiet moment,
mixing kerosene with fire
conversion of energy
that knows no bounds like love or heat
between the masses of the matches
sparking sentences that puncture
flurries with flame,
sinful brilliance;

the phoenix processing another life
before it even turns cold
passing Prometheus’s torch on bated breath
tasting our apple skin of Eden
in the confines of a cobblestone garden

shed shed shed

before the fire dies out
fueled by the kick of heartbeat
retaining our burning in the fibers of skin
before we are snuffed out,

and let the chill sink in.

© Kate M. Sine