Flaming

Flaming

I knew I was flaming 

when I thought your lips were a rose to kiss,

a corner poem to lay in. 

I knew I was flaming when

I saw your smooth mountain coming out of the wilderness,

erupting.

I knew when I felt your infinite possibilities 

enter and swell. 

I knew how to know

if not for wanting 

that I was flaming,

when I became a star:

Half hoping why,

Waiting to admit that the warmth between us might just be the Sun.

I knew how to love you:

gratuitously and without reason,

and when to reach out 

into the yearning world 

to find your hands

holding me together. 

I knew when sleeping 

made tomorrow real

and when to know, before sleeping, 

that you loved me.

I knew when harboring deep

in my large, brown heart 

was a flame 

for us.