“Touch Me” Misread as “Torch Me”

And—

How like fire fingers are,

curled in fists or flat and stroking.

The recipient’s skin

reddens.

Who hasn’t wanted to be consumed

by heat,

to breathe in and scorch

the lining of the lungs with the breath of the beloved?

In winter and alone

I have craved the match, the smoke and ashes.

Love and the Devil both wear red veils

and offer locks of their red, red hair

as tokens.

What will you do with yours?

Without the flesh, burnt hair is not the same

as a burnt offering.