There are some flowers
Born to give pause.
Their scent
A nepenthe
Aimed at attraction.
There are some fires
Once ignited
Which aim to consume the world.
They are started by lightning
Or a smell, a touch or a kiss.
There are wayward rocks,
Hiding in the shallows, waiting to wreck a ship.
They hide there
Barely touching the surface.
They are waiting for you to sail into them
Because they are waiting for meaning.
They can smell your approach
And the moment you drift over the horizon
The living skin of the organisms encrusting their basalt
Will tingle at your approach.
There are some books
Waiting to be read.
By you.
They hold the secrets you desire to be answered.
The words are there for all of time.
Your time.
And those moments you spend thinking of matches
The one you will someday ignite
Will be used to burn the book.
There is something delightful in watching
A book burn into ashes.
Then, the smoke and the words can be inside of you.
And you will reek of gasoline and flowers
Musk
And whiskey
And fear
And hope
And love.