the world’s still cocooned in sleep
as golden light sails through my skies,
and I’m wrapped up messily—
half in sheets, half in dreams,
painted by your wistful smile.
it smells like lemonade and gasoline,
when the hot winds come alive.
I don’t dance, I protest
but she’s got a sunset-colored dress
and there’s witchcraft in her eyes.
sparks fly up, as if flames believe,
there’s life beyond the bonfire.
we tango, half in sand, half in sea—
and my world bleeds into hers
as crimson burns the dusk to night.
Pen and Fire 