Hot Fire

Friends come, friends go,
summer’s warm, winter’s cold.
In your heart where the winter’s warm
fires are burning hot
you find yourself standing under a starry sky at night
in the empty snow in an empty field, head up
looking at a million hot pinpricks and wondering:

if one of those pinpricks is looking down at you.

Hot,
love’s desire.
Not
from friendly fire
which takes place
behind enemy lines.

Madness I Am, for
friendly fire is not
if you’re in their aim
and you’ve gotten shot
by love’s betrayal of desire.

Fire
burning hot
like the bullet wounds
of my heart’s desire.
Fire
I want not
but the betrayal of the soul is the heart’s desire,
and betrayal of both sets the mind afire
with thoughts of what you want
but cannot have.

Peace be with you.

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Filed under Matthew, Poetry

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