One Comment

Spring Cleaning

  By

If my body is your temple,
Your spark kindles my inmost fire.
In the dark, I tend your flame,
Drawing strength from the promise
Of warmth and light.

When the ashes pile up high and
The air grows heavy with our closeness,
I loosen the fastenings on the shutters,
Draw back the bolts from across the gates,
Let all my doors and windows open wide.
I let the ashes blow away,
A gust of silvery powder,
The residue of our silent solitude.

And after that, still and soft you come,
Brightly through my empty halls.
Flooding my chambers with clear air,
You consecrate my body with your light
And make this temple home.

©jsmorgane Feb 2018

No comments

Sparks and Snowflakes

  By , ,

Both land on my skin and
Sear this outer layer of mine.
The spark smoulders for a second and
I can smell my flesh burn
Before I feel the prick of pain.
Blood drowns the spark as
I carelessly wipe it away.
A snowflake settles on my skin
And the little bit of soot and blood smear
Across the soft hollow of my hand.
I watch the melted flake run black and red,
A tear dripping from the tiny wound.

Another snowflake, I watch it glitter,
Settled in stillness before it moves again
And gently turns, transforms to water,
A clear drop now, then another.
I’ll pick the scab off my hand, I know,
And have a little scar of pink and tender skin,
More fragile and exposed than the rest of me.
When my hot balm is pressed into the soft snow
It will cool it, strengthen it, and form another
Layer of protection, one grown from ice and fire.

©jsmorgane Nov 2017