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.


snuffed by a breeze,

or is it?


The flame returns,

strengthened by the brief reprieve.


on my hand. 

in my hands.

against my skin.

The candle burns.


Posted on September 3, 2013, in Poetry and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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