I have been taught love in terms of fire 

The first played with matches and dollar store lighters

He’d accidentally burn you and apologize,

For he didn’t know what fire could do

So you grew angry, lit a match, and threw it as you left

The second was a fraud of a flame,

A television with the look and crackle of the real thing.

The longer you gaze, cuddled up on the couch,

Your mind convinces itself that this fire is real

That it has all the warmth you need

But when it turns off you realize you’d been shivering this whole time

The third presents you with a small candle

The flame dances to the sound of your shaky voice

You are captivated by its warmth, its light, its persistence. 

The third feels safe.

He brings you a second candle, and a third, and before you realize

You are surrounded by almost 70 candles

You’re sweating profusely, and they are so close that the flames

Brush through your hair and cling to your legs

Everyone is watching now

As you pull at your sleeves hoping to conceal the blisters

You are burning, melting,

But you have never felt so warm, how could you give that up?

Just before you completely turn to ash, the fire goes out 

He realized that playing with fire wasn’t fun anymore

I hope that the fourth doesn’t feel like fire

I hope they don’t burn or leave blisters

I’d like to learn love of quiet warmth, not raging flames