I.
The wax pooled as I carried it into the night.
Building my altar, hands bleeding love,
carving runes in its milky flesh.
I set my candle in the spiral
with the other devotions already present.

II.
The wax dripped a lick,
stinging my skin.
I breathed a sigh of rapture into the flame,
echoing spirit.

III.
A decade or more of light
grew thick trails of warm tones,
cured along the table
I build energy on.
I ponder another kiss from flame,
loving the bite of it, my heart exposed
in reasonless joy and delight.