Fire

There are lines

that cross -

intersecting passions -

meetings

of ghost and

dream and

longing.

Like, when you call me “baby” -

and everything in me

responds -

as if I am the one,

the only,

ever.

But all the while

I am dancing 

among the 

many that came

before.

We dance 

together

at the refiner’s

fire; 

gifts of

past-love/old-love/lost-love

leap and prance

among the flames -

sacred offerings

holding space

upon the altar

of our new-found love.

I wonder - 

what woman 

has shaped you, dreamed 

you, nurtured and 

fed you, even in 

spite of yourself?

I long to 

dance inside

her skin,

to know her 

belly and her 

breasts, the scent 

between her thighs,

the way she called out

when you were inside her –

as if this knowing

will seal our 

fate: yours and mine.

Back and forth,

we dance.

Around and

around

the fire that

transforms

burns,

heals,

destroys.