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 burn through the dark
Midst the hissing and jumping
of the heat that runs through me
I yearn for your touch, your 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
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