a smile from you is at once glory and responsibility it’s a beautiful razor
threatening to slash history (every minute with you is such risk) a glowing
orb that soothes while illuminating a peril without match
your glance sets me on fire (the color of love is red) it knocks together the match-
ing decanters of us still your hand next to mine is a razor
needful but shimmering playful with danger we are embers glowing
from the forest floor we are a resting gun (look around: the threat of loss is glowing
from all those in love) have you doubted whether your flood and my fire match
too perfectly how an eon of us fits on the edge of a razor
how we are this razor glowing on my cheek we are this match burning in my fingers
Early draft of a tritina. Constructive criticism welcome.
Northwest Journals 
