To the Flames
Anonymous

There was once a time I loved you

Where I would burn my hands
upon the grooves of your face
To cradle it,
ever so gently
In a hold that was too warm

I would smell my flesh as it burned
And think,

This is love

These poems were written in random moments, without the intention of ever being shared. It’s frightening to have something you cherish be ridiculed, yet even more so for it to be forgotten. So maybe the author is doing themselves a favour, and maybe they’ll regret it, but they write these poems to be remembered so maybe they can write them to be shared.