there’s something purely distinct
about fire, isn’t there?
how it silkenly licks and caresses
its victim until
it no longer exists as it was
but it succumbs so gently
like a lover accepting
her very last kiss
unable to bring to memory
the one before
This poem was written in Stream of Consciousness. Click the link to join in the prompt, which this week is “mem”: https://lindaghill.com/2016/11/11/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-nov-1216/
It was also prompted by the Daily Post. The word of the day, Flames.