I have known fire.
I have caged the vital force of life
in my two hands, and if you will ask me
what it was that I wrote with my tongue
on your skin, I will tell you
that it was what the serpent said to Eve.
I have held you like a pause,
a silence hanging cat's-cradle between my fingers.
In the stillness presaging a gasp,
I clasped you with greater force:
it was not enough to hold us together.
Always, spent, you'd slip from me,
and now, spent, I've slipped from you,
something that you could not quite wish to hold,
still something bright and pretty
in the way that your dagger is pretty.
I have known fire. It is the heat of your mouth
on mine, and the quieter conflagrations
in which our words rocketed from our lips
like meteors, showering the sky. My dear Leonid,
we have been sorcerers.
And now we are over?
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