Water and Flame

The flame in me demands I dance ecstatic.

Signal Atlas: Ten of Wands

I took the moth, and I took him up into me— and learned to carry them carefully: the final wand, the torch that’s now mine to hold.

Lover, lay down your ink. Let your pulse speak.

A spark trailing luminous pathways, Coursing His name in blazing fire Through every darkened corner.

I am the chopped wood I carry, and He is the flame that consumes me whole— to ash and coal, reborn.