Watching Shadows Dance
Dec 19 2021
The beeswax candle burns clean
almost smokeless.
It seems inexhaustible,
burning long and slow
with a naturally sweet smell
that lingers, but doesn't overwhelm.
It gives off a softly honeyed glow,
which not only calms
but flatters us.
I thank the industrious bees.
Consider long summer days
and a season of flowers
captured in its light.
And remember the girl
who gave it to me.
Who must have envisioned
intimate dinners for two;
cooking together
to classic jazz and blues,
then sitting across a small table, elegantly set
enveloped in its scent.
Or lying in bed,
spooning against
her naked form,
our skin glowing
in its soft warm light,
bodies radiant
with a slight patina of sweat.
A candle, which will last all night
and through the lazy day that follows,
lost to time
with our phones off
and curtains tightly drawn.
Still burning strong
as darkness falls.
Except the candle stayed
and she didn't.
And all these years, I've been saving it.
Which may be why it feels like betrayal
to finally set it alight,
sitting awake
in the middle of the night
watching shadows dance on the wall.
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