…cold, my love
even while standing stark
inside the radius of your narrow square
in nothing more than the space between
your outstretched arms
and my clenched fists
I’m never tired
of watching you night and day
burning like a furnace, never shrinking
from the desire to become the source
of my everything!
But, I have everything, my love
right here, in the posture
of your ample cortex
between your wide frontal lobes
and my furrowed unibrow
tapping vehemently to the tune
of an anthem
which echoed in the womb
And, like a full blown fever, I’m burning
in and out of your presence
flickering with pure devotion
renewing the ruins of my cardboard doors
and broken glass walls one by one
But, I’m never…

3 thoughts on “Furnace

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