Oh, how close I move to this glowing white
flame, stretching, flickering like a searing
saber nearly singeing my brow. Its light,
symbol of world’s salvation—appearing
a miracle floating on crimson wax
pool nearly cresting small tan wooden bowl—
suddenly softens, leans toward your relaxed
frame, love. Leans more, and I gaze into soul
of your candle eyes, their glowing white flames
singeing my frame, your candle smile calling
me to you, warm air caroling our names.
How close I move to you, our forms falling
as one, stretching, flickering like searing
sabers, world’s salvation all endearing.
Roger Armbrust
December 18, 2009
