Feuer Poem by Matthew Peel

The fire made
The shadows
Dance around us
Every little flame
Flickers closer
As we lie
By its
Friendly side
And when we
Look to the
Ceiling, we hope
The stars still
Exist
Every twinkle
Shimmering like lovely
Gold enticing
Savage souls
Is this love?
The walls seem
To waste like
Paper
It feels as though
The warmth seeps in
Our insides
We just hold
Each others
Hand and let
Our world crumble
To tiny embers
How the fire
Makes those
Wily shadows
Dance among
The rubble
We have made
The garden will go,
The fruit
Our roses
With their
Deceptive thorns
Never to poke us again
The orchid, which you
Hated anyway
And when we
Face the ground
Is it worth it
To be 8 feet under,
Or above where
We lie in our
Own wild fire?
Our hands burn
Our feet
Our legs
Our arms
My stomach
Your chest
Our mess
The last room
Our bed
Our hearts
Us.