Smoldering heart

Lately my nights have been
a dizzy kaleidescope of incense
and candles and
flickering shadows
against my shaking
fingers.

Every night
I strike
the matches, watch as they
grow, dance, fly,
they are my
children,
of sorts.
Sometimes I think
that I can hear
their whispers.

And sometimes
I let the match
keep burning,
the fire alive as it
crawls towards my finger,
teasing,
flirting,
sensuous,
beckoning to me,
tossing its long hair over
its shoulder,
giggling,
it
(she?)
winks,
daring me to keep her
alive.

I wonder:
if I didn't kill the flame,
if I made
the connection,
just once
felt its
(her?)
lips
press
sexy, dangerous,
against my skin,
would it
(she?)
lick my
heart?
The desire to find out
is
overwhelming...

bit I'm too afraid,
so,

I kill her
and start
again.