Small Sharp Fire

they do not see
   what burns in us

it is a small, sharp fire
   white as stars and hot as revolution.

it is a blaze hidden beneath
   words, beneath spring's perfume,
      beneath the decadence of sweet syrup
a flame dancing across the top
   of a wineglass, and through
      the hearts of butterflies

it is ink set to paper
   lest it ignite and burn all to melancholy ash

they will forget this tiny fire
   they will not see anything but the softness of your mouth
the shyness of my eyelashes
   your sun-coloured filaments of hair
the glass-delicate wing-bones of my hands
   they will see gentleness, or
      they will see weakness.

so then!
   we shall keep this secret fire
and set the world ablaze when it is not looking
      and smile from within our flames.

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