The world is brighter in firelight, the lines

on your forehead not quite so pronounced, 

I choose to imagine this table

is perfect in this candlelight, that we are

exactly what we seem to be and nothing more or less inflamed.

Later you will refuse to touch me.

When the wax slides, hot and smooth, up

between the creases in my flesh,

a prayer for the graceless mounds of body you can't 

control, any more, leave the residue

and the sweet burns that surround.

Remind me I am alive. Remind me of my pain, and culpability.

Are you thirsty, love? Tired? Bored?

I can be a better toy, I can 

be a helpmeet and a maker and a lover and a keeper,

till the inevitable moment and I'll burn this house down

like the cask of kindling it is. The fire

will hold me closer and sweeter than ever you did.