In your house
there is a fireplace
lights me at the spine
travels up the back
as you lilt across the room
to others I have not yet met
the spark flames at the neck
heating my face
dangerously moving red blush
behind wide eyes and tickled ears
lips, cheek, brain
infused
you sit
relaxed
rocking a chair
book in hand
you are a writer
a poet.
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