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.
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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