New Jeanland

What once was a spark—  
a flash of heat,  
bright and fleeting—  
now curls like flame toward the sky,  
its edges catching,  
hungry for air.  
Your words ripple through me,  
cool and steady as a stream  
finding its way through stone,  
their touch a quiet insistence,  
carving paths I didn’t know were there.  

I flare, restless,  
rising against the pull of your tide.  
Your waters surge,  
not to smother,  
but to shape—  
to meet my heat with calm resolve.  

Laughter dances between us,  
raw and untamed. 
Your gaze darkens,  
each glance a flicker of light on water,  
each silence a space where sparks leap.  

The air between us thickens,  
a shimmer of heat and mist,  
where flame licks at the edges of the tide,  
and the tide folds around the flame.  

There is no word for the
glow of embers caught in a current; 
the unrelenting pull  
of the wild and unknown;
fire turning to steam;
and water, now flame.