You are this in a moment.
A brief and salty moment.
As we soak the sheets
wet through
with our sweat

rung out

from the heat of the flames.

But the fire, so hot, burns
too bright
bright like a sun glint on glass in my eyes
hot like a furnace

crucible hot

ore meltingly hot.

It eats all it can
find.

Until the fresh fire logs I bring
no longer feed it
and the tinder crackles
and spits.

Until the flames shrink and grow small
and glow until they

nearly exist

and the heat turns to a warmth
and the ashes whiten
and blow

in the winds of change.

Until the soot stains remain.