You resplendent flame,
licking your uncertain wounds
with a spicy blue tongue.
I’ve fed you
volumes of poetry
on bland caloric parchment.
Watched your belly rise
with hungry heat.
Still, you starve somehow,
withering in spirit.
And I see your soul
is like a gingerbread man
dying on catalytic coals.
How I wish I could do more.
Throw a few more logs on
pages full of how I feel
in your red, embracing embers.
But wooden words are not fuel.
Damp and heavy with blood,
they weigh down our warmth,
and it takes turning to ash
to realize the best thing to do
is absolutely nothing.
Let the wind whisper into you
until you’ve grown fat enough
to swallow me whole again.
Whole Again by Lannie Stabile
Royal Rose 