Fire & Habitation

I’ve learned to make

Fire in the desert, the orange

Crackle spitting, the cold clinging

At the side of these tongues, precious & ever expanding

At points, the cold so severe, I burn myself in the flames, my skin smoking & blistering, until the pain fades into a long river of agony, the cold becomes the rocks I slither past

I am rushing to the long fast plummet, aware of the headlong splash 

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