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.
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