Are you dormant?
Do you lament the cooling stone
of time?  Has greenery

taken root around your once
fiery rim?  Or do you still feel
that red heat of living

churning deep inside
your bones?
We were told our lives

should be balanced.
Who wants balanced?
We want exotic.

We want flames
that lick the night.
Do not mistake me,

I will forever
fall on my knees
before the wild purple orchid,

and we will decorate
this fertile ground
with sweet pink fruits

to drip upon our eager lips,
but our hearts long to alter
the shape of the land.

Deep beneath this cone
of uncertainty
lies the red sword of change.

Fiery furnace,
burn us down.
Fill our mouths

with the taste of heat
over and over,
like the very first time.


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