Fire roses
Today you
grasped
the stars
as
they were
slipping off
the edge of
my horizon
and shook
them back
into the
sky.
You are
quicksilver
can leave
me
slow-footed
wordless.
My skin is
alive
with the
soft imprint
of your
mouth.
How many
miracles
can there
be?
As I burnt
your letters
the pages
spread and curled
bloomed
like fire
roses.
Cynthia
Fuller
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