As time ate away the flames
I raised my gaze and met her eyes
and in that one quick moment
I would not let eternity in
and though I knew what would come
I still let myself act like I was in love.

I could see she'd not yet felt love.
Her hair was the color of flames;
she had oceans in her eyes,
and she called down for me to come.
It took only a moment
for me to get myself in.

With her hands, she helped me in.
I felt my bloodless heart flutter, like love,
and between us there was just a moment,
something as fragile as a flame,
and I saw her story in her eyes:
I was lost; I could not wait to come.

It did not take this feeling long to come;
I did not want to let it in
but soon I was lost in her eyes.
It would be deadly to mistake it for love
but it is a similar, darker flame:
hunger; I recognized it in a moment.

I let myself get lost in the moment –
night, I thought, had taken too long to come,
and I saw her heart, burning like flames,
because she was naive enough to let that feeling in.
I wanted to take the flower, her love;
I hated the trust I saw in her eyes.

Finally the spark faded from her eyes.
She died in too many moments.
When dead, can one still love?
I doubt the answer will ever come,
but I took her blood, which once lay within,
and wrote a poem on her sun-kissed flesh, the words like flames.

The dead have no flames in their eyes.
Their bodies are lost in time’s gradual moments;
it was in this way I realized I could not ever again feel love.