The Fire in Our Words

Fire drips like water from the way we speak; you would think the tongue in our mouth is a flame. In the land of love, the reflection of that face turned the promise of our spring into autumn's color. Tonight, as we spoke of your face, no companion burned for us more tenderly than the candle. Like the broken pen of clumsy writers describing those curls, not one true word comes out of our mouth. No one ever finds us through our frailty; when you want a sign of us, ask the moaning instead.