The wildfire grows
into a true and beautiful candle.
and my breath is scented with pleasure
as my coal sits, stacked on my lap.
The dancing fourth night tosses some (into the fire)
These sparkles are the glow of (my) life.
The cyclone storms through my elbow pit.
Wiggling my arm till my feet fall slave to its run.
The run; I enjoy, lingers till forever.
The cyclone grows into a gentle breeze.
Lifting light foliage to rest as
pristine wreaths on my head.
and with a kiss, sets it
forever in my heart.
My beautiful wildfire
My beautiful cyclone