A woman poet in my head whose name I can't remember
Sylvia Plath of course!
While the fire slowly wakes, never pausing like me to ask if it has what it takes
It burns when it can and when it can't it doesn't live
Fire has all or nothing at all to give
Would I spoil poetry by fanning my desires?
Or are these the only words to which the universe conspires...
My lover running naked through remembrances of rain
While gently, softly, lovingly, we sanely go insane
I leave to catch her now in glory ragged from my debt
Another dream come true... In blue...
Wanders into my net