Your teeth and throat and bitten lip.
Your tongue, so sharp and tart.
Your muffled sounds. Your quickened blink.
Your stutter-skipping heart.
It won’t be long, this little wait.
You try so hard to hold
Your hands and feet and gaze and breath
As still as you’ve been told.
You squirm. You shift. You can’t resist.
You never could. You sigh.
You’re here because of what you are,
And why you catch the eye—
You burning wick, you emberglow,
You drifting little spark.
You are a pulsing point of light:
But oh, the night is dark.
