Literary Yard

Search for meaning

By: Angelo McCabe


A bonfire burns
in the silent holy night
My body consumed by the fire
that only you can ignite.

I hunt for … what?
Words —
and the spirit that will be made flesh,
that crave the caress
of your eyes and your breath,
That only your lips and your tongue can attest.
Only yours.

Love …
Shadows of you and I wrestling
upside down on the ceiling
above your bed.


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