flames

flames.

i don’t want a love so ignite that it burns to ashes—the remaining pages of your unfinished book. i don’t want the sparkles; that crispy sound in just a snap of enticing saturation to ruin the beauty of your untouched skin. i don’t want to be remembered of a beautiful accident— it is not. for scars and echoes of plea and anger and mercy is never the presence of beauty. do not feed me with treachery for i will grow into an obsession of challenges and repetitious burnout. i don’t want to be an arsonist of my own home. do not let me become my sin. i don’t want a fiery love, but i also don’t want to lose this flicker. i don’t want these suddenness, but i want this warmth to last. i want a hearth. contain me in the bricks. listen to my momentous ticks. let me dance with my flame. for once let me be daunt of my own rage. i want a love… enough to survive the cold.