Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Here's #4 - another super rough draft (finally, a non-death related poem):


I am the pooled paraffin that keeps
the wick lit when the light has gone.
I am a slow dissolve and fear nothing
save the leech of flame that siphons
my liquid essence.

I have the power to ensnare your senses
with myriad scents as I pirouette with the air;
and when you need a diversion
I shall entertain you
with shadow dancers on the wall.

When you have no further need of me
I shall be as patient as a cat stalking a mouse
until the curtains are drawn
and a new flame is struck.

I will melt until I am no more
than a scented afterthought.

copyright 2005 by Cookala


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