Prometheus

Fire your gift to me

and now I burn,

upon this pyre

my heart laid bare,

to be devoured

by the flames,

by your gift;

exposed the soul

for what it is

and what it is not –

alive in our breath,

and memory,

only to die

when both are lost,

ashes consumed

by the ghost of love.

But if not for the spark,

I would not burn,

I would not be,

and there would be

nothing to forget.