Pile of Wax

By Taylor Greife

Your thumb meets the spark wheel as our fingers interlock,  

igniting the blue flame by the time we hug goodnight.  

My heart is bursting but in a good way,  

and the flame lights the wick from that very first night.  

The warmth of your touch overwhelms me with consolation.  

And the spark in your eyes only kindles a bigger light in mine.  

Your presence is a breath of fresh air, 

With the scent of cinnamon and a hint of apple.  

I feel our bond growing stronger and the flame burning brighter,  

Filling the air with tranquility and lighting up the darkest rooms.  

Everything is melting around us, 

But we stand in the center, strong and true.  

Autumn reaches its end but it only brings power to our flame.  

Keeping us warm when the snow falls to the ground.  

We were at our best but never knew, 

Doing everything, hoping we wouldn’t drown. 

The wick stands, though it’s shorter than before.  

I can only pray the flame doesn’t reach the end. 

I have done all I can and you’re not doing anything, 

To keep our flame strong and away from the wind.  

It wasn’t the wind that ruined our flame, 

It was you pinching the fire, making it turn to smoke. 

I tried to bring the flame back, I wanted nothing but this flame. 

But it was hopeless. Our love gone, my heart broke.  

Now, the only thing keeping me warm is the summer sun,  

And the burning feeling of your cold acts. 

With little explanation, you have disappeared  

And all we are is a hardened pile of wax.