Bailey Rafter

 

Where love burns and scorches,

ice becomes unthinkable.

 

Fire, passion and destruction.

An ember of incense, or a forest burning.

What is too much or too little?

 

When does the warmth die?

Apathy, frost on morning grass.

Ice, destructive and delicate.

 

And what is left?

Love.

Lust.

Lies.

 

Or nothing at all.