The flame flickering within is you, 
stowed away in a precious corner
where I feel your heartbeat vibrate 
through the earth and into me.

A thunder my bones will always succumb to, 
the tapping along flesh before diving 
and swimming in my blood.

Too much springs from here to say out loud, 
so you must know the aching when
the universe pauses to narrow and swell, 
reshape within the timid silences before communion.

Because too much can get lost in the telling, 
too many blinks and fragments obliterated, 
wisps of light strobing as they fade in the cold, 
each one a familiar partial surge of memory.

The flame flickering within you 
knows no boundaries when reaching me, 
the fires touch a precious altar 
spreading to all seasons.

A thunder shaking roots in spring,
the summer breath against my neck 
as your lips seize me in the water, 
the melody and sweet scent of autumn 
leaves fluttering to the ground.

And the constellations I learned so well 
in the winter as you became the wine 
that would warm my blood.

So you must know the aching, 
the universe pouring rivers through you 
to murmur and scream, 
orchestrate it's shapes anew in communion.

Because we may forget some 
vignettes in the telling, 
wisps separated from the fire 
and carried along the wind.

Perhaps the surge living in each one 
can survive long enough for you to build 
even more corners within me for you to inhabit.