fire is the last fluid that still attracts me,
the only one that still intoxicates me.
long tongues caresse the young body of
the fir
in a last, erotic strain.
calling, sensual incandescence,
the joining of matter with nothingness and eternity.
the wood has fulfilled its calling,
now the wind carries him towards our lungs,
only so we can breath again.
god too, must have been a fire.