in quiet solitude, cradling and kindling it,
warming my hands over the smoulder of it,
locked away in the ribcage of my chest...
But, as time inevitably passed,
and the blows of broken hearts
and loves slipping away into my past,
then that cage blossomed cracks and fissures and I
and stored the pieces in a box with old photos and sadness.
Now, I fling myself over the edge,
chasing the heat and light and the sparkle in your eye, and
all our pieces catch oxygen and light,