As evening creeps amongst the willows
and lights fade out in turn,
I rest my head upon my pillow
and watch the candle burn.
So hesitant, timid and sweet
It peeks its wobbly head
I notice as our gazes meet:
It’s staring at my head!
Is it the gig that you perform
that captivates my soul?
Or could the fire that I yearn
for predispose my fall?
But as you consummate your skin
I cannot help but fret
an overwhelming pang akin
to sorrow and regret.
On my awakened consciousness
I rest my fearful bouts
of weariness and loneliness
‘til past the darkest clouds.
For I see many similes
between your dance and mine
and wonder what my fuel is
that makes my darkness shine.
A steady burn? A caring light
that seem so agitating ?
Until a draft begins a fight
your fire scintillating.
Resistance is so futile now:
the winds are much too strong,
so you submit with your last bow
and hope to ramble on.
What once appeared so agile
amongst the ruthless gusts
has now become a fragile child:
so vulnerable and lost.
As sorrow comes again to blame
and this time so much queerer
I know now looking at my flame:
I’m staring in a mirror!