Are we burning, shrinking candles
dripping wax of flattery
in-to a-beautiful-mess
at - our - feet?
Your face it shines a brighter glow
gets closer.-I get hotter;
still I burn slow,
capacity burnt up
like no good hot air.
And now you're a pool, extinguished
on the table, with nothing
to hold up the wick.
Started while residing on McBride St. in Syracuse, NY; 1991, aged 23 or 24.
Writings By Erick Heins 