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— for M
The wash of flames in your fireplace appears liquid, gold rising and falling in waves, very like the heat I feel in your arms, your heat and mine mixing, stirring, rising into a warm new thing, my leaden heart slowly crystalizing into a whole new element, after melting down into a puddle of heavy grey, heated to the core after decades, weighted down and forever dragging myself through my days until this moment, this chilly day warmed by the fire you started, the flames we feed together, two faggots of wood sizzling and rising up to warm not just themselves but all the air in the room, our skin, your fingers on my arm, my tentative lips on your jawline and your neck, while outside a beaver moon hangs like a circle of silver, balanced on a sliver of star as the year
