Lips get chapped
from lack of kissing,
especially in the winter
when hot love should
warm the cool nights
while campfire embers
glow cold, ashing over,
into dust and soot,
memories of the trunk and leaves
long gone, less than echoes,
less than heartbreak,
the last of the hickory
smoldering into nothing,
wisps of smoke slow-stalking
the coals, infusing my hair
with woodsmoke and memories
of the heat of cold winter nights.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
I'm a weirdo nerd who’s extremely subversive. I like rocks, incense, and all kinds of witchy stuff. Intrusive rhyme bothers me.
I’m known as Dena Brown to the revenuers and pollsters.
MA English literature, College of Charleston
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Comments (1)
What a beautifully melancholic piece — it captures the ache of absence and the warmth of remembered love so vividly. The imagery of fire fading into smoke perfectly mirrors the slow cooling of passion.