Hot wax



Sunday, November 16, 2014


The hot wax oozes

From between my fingers;

I squeeze too hard,

Desperate to keep hold

Of something my own heat

Makes melt,

I always light the match

Even though

I love the slick feel

Of cold wax

Against the rough

Palms of my hands,

From bulbous base

To the tip of wick

Then flick,

I raise the flame

And feel the warm wax

Oozing though the gaps

Of my fingers,

And the tighter

I make my fist

The more it gushes,

Like hot lava

Flowing inside

And outside of me,

From some deep volcano

I canít keep from




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