seaside.

lacking fire you

throw the wood into the furnace

you try to light the dark

you try to kiss the love

throw the hand on the breast

throbbing hearts you

toss the hair aside

toss the clothes aside

still as cold as evening sand

salt water rushing you

then hear the whistle of a congested nose

then hear the ruffle of a rushed start

so slow the heart moves you

just throw the wood

 just throw the wood into the furnace.