You fed me

I hungered, and you fed me.

Your savoury embrace, and I
salivated like at the smell of bbq

I never felt so safe so sated
So full so
Fed.

You did not offer dessert


But eggs and tea and toast and stirfry and the
warm
companionship
hot
coupling
were enough
then.


Then.


This is strange food
melts away
leaves me hungry 

Now, after my three course meal, from
over my
cheesecake-laden
fork

I look back with
gratitude.
You fed me.

Flames are not tongues

Flames are not tongues
They do not lick
They do not
   wet.

Flames are a virus.
They spread.
They eat.
They take what is and
   wreak change.

They are chaos.
They are catalyst.
They do not form
sweet words
And sing of
       a love that never dies.
Flames die.

Or, if they are tongues,
They are lying tongues
And when they
Speak
Lick
Taste
Swallow
Sing of endless love,
They only feed their own hollow
survival.

But flames, like other liars,
  die.