What shall I call it?

The fire that burns me


Yet consuming

Threatening to devour

All that comes in its way


Breaking every boundary

Dancing on every edge


No one ever told me

It was all shushed away

The smoke was waved off

The air must stay pure

Don’t ask questions

Don’t wonder about fire

Your questions are vulgar

And it stares and scares us

Demanding answers

That we cannot provide.



So I looked for it myself

Behind the drapes

Of my childhood home

Inside the blouse

Of my teenage babysitter


I looked with my tongue

Moving in each crevice

Of the insides of

My first boyfriend’s

Hungry mouth


I looked with my fingers

Spasming in exhaustion

Drenched in my juices

On feverish lonely nights

The answers making my body

Quiver with each release


I looked in the eyes

Of the man with a fire

Burning through his eyes

A fire almost as wild as mine

I watched him erase

With his gecko-tongue

The thick lines I drew

Around fire

He let my spark out

Dazzling and nascent

Free to explore

And laughed at me faltering

Amusing himself

In my ignorant stiffness

Till I learnt how to bend


I looked through the drapes

Of her dark hair

My lips warning her

Though my body begged

‘Don’t get too close to fire’

But she chose to burn


I still look in places

That promises an answer

At least a hint

And in my looking

I learn and yearn

I feed the fire

That continues to grow


With each expedition

I rush to relish

The few fleeting moments

Of exhausted satiety

Until I am on fire again


2 thoughts on “Fire

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