the arsonist

what can I say?
we must talk in whispers lest they hear
the walls here have fearful ears
I saw seared tongues sip sinew and bone
that’s how the dragons get in

come away
safety belongs to odd shades of blue
but square pegs in smoke rings are quite untrue
hide all the matches  – there’s a raging fire
in the eye whenever thoughts are re-wired

two can play
but only one can bust the combustible game
remember when you were an old old flame?
I blew out sixteen candles and flambéed the cake
is heartache still the same as heartbreak?

it’s one helluva way
but incineration is a kind of sin
they let you out but keep you in
temptation hung on wands of dry grass
a dust devil stepped on the gas

if I give up this passion
will the fruit wither with the cold?
Fire is just an expression
of heated words and colours uncontrolled

Björn incites us to meet at the Bar with Expressionism

 

12 Comments on “the arsonist

  1. “I blew out sixteen candles and flambéed the cake
    is heartache still the same as heartbreak?”
    Wit and wounded, older-and-wiser so surely conjured here, Laura.Tx

    Like

    • had to focus on a strong emotion for the prompt though this is more of an inferno of feelings – hence made the tempo erratic to match

      Like

  2. Love how you have worked with the fire constantly in this, both in terms of beauty and destruction… For sure in some affairs there are arsonisists..
    and I love:
    incineration is a kind of sin

    Like

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