Melt the wax without hurting those slim fingers
ones the sorceress told you belonged to an artist
in a cold city that never belonged to you
where you searched for reason to keep walking without looking back
assure that the perfume is added gradually to avoid burning
your face, the smell is always potent to fill you
with nostalgia to the one who let you stand
and knew how to bend you, left and right
to his will, to his touch-
add a wick, there should be a source of light
something to keep the fire going, shouldn't there be?
desire, despair and other dead things
you burn to light the leftover darkness in the corner of your room
this autumn takes you by storm
by way of the sun disappearing behind the mountains
the natural turn of the leaves, the wind and the day.
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