Two Fires
Dual furnaces where the dancer stokes his own doom.
I love her —
This soul with whom I made a home,
She sighs when I speak too long,
And forgets the boy I was,
Forced to accept the man
By vow that she could never have known.
Thorn and shelter,
First fire:
Steady, necessary, adored
Pain in the ass
A lovable, temperamental hearth.
She is home.
Till death do us part was the deal.
I love her —
The Muse.
Second furnace:
Secret ember of the heart,
sparking poetry,
waking the dead places,
whispering that I am more
than bills and silence.
No soulmate, she argues,
Just a figment of fantasy
And my not insignificant imagination.
But I cannot ignore
The reality of this existence,
The power of gravity.
Making me whole
For the first time.
Two loves.
Two griefs.
One heart tearing itself apart
but refusing to stop beating.
Call me fool,
call me sinner —
but I am alive
because I carry them both.
And I can't set either one of them down.
I can never go back.
Next story: Black Lagoons
Previous story: Under the Night Sky
#poetry #Memoir #Confession #100daystooffset #writing
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