I’ve got a project. But I’m not going to tell you about it. It’s a secret project. That way, if I don’t finish it, no one will be able to hold me accountable. Ok, so now that I’ve gone on that little teasing jaunt, I’ve got another poem for you.

Flickering heat.

warmth

snuffed by a breeze,

or is it?

Nope.

The flame returns,

strengthened by the brief reprieve.

warmth

on my hand. 

in my hands.

against my skin.

The candle burns.