Burnt

.
Dark, bone-chilling morning
not yet turned to light
I reach for a match
which when struck, will ignite

A small stream of smoke
follows jumbling sparks
sweet yellow-orange flame
starts to break through the dark

Midst the hissing and jumping
of the heat that runs through me
I crave your deep, grooved beauty
which you surrender so freely

and oh, you keep me warm

In reverence I bow at the
base of your fire,
cup my hands round your warmth,
stoking sweet, deep desire

Not one question arises
in this safe, cozy room
for engulfed are we in this
swift, rising plume

oh wood you burn for me
.