Living Embers Tête-À-Tête Poem by Mark Heathcote

Living embers sirs have had a tête-à-tête
Living embers circle and fan blue flames
And doesn't their warmth feel subdural?
It's like they'd love you and me eternal
In that first blush of infancy,
It's like they'd a premonition or a Deja vu
It's like they'd come to place a crown or enslave either me or you
It's like a blacksmith's polished blade
A dagger forged a long time ago - but never waged
There sir now you have it,
A black heart has been folded, heated, sharpened
Into living embers, living dancing cartwheeling flames
They're dancing around you, these living embers
What sir! Are you trying to incline?
Sir, they'll cut, chisel melt through your ice-blue tears
Clinical cruel minds have they, with lunatic smiles
With cynical eyes that never blink
They just cut and carve
Out their-trinket-silences in the depths of a new disease
Washing their pots in a Belfast sink
They'll leave spores in your pockets and those layers locked in deep. Filthy with grease with feelings bereft of love
Wondering, if it's they who
Must now lose their hearts, their souls to a wounded love?
Why, why are there ashen feathers at the soles of my feet?
Look, look how the flames leap out at me at us, sirs
By elimination, they'll encircle me
By elimination, they'll entice you to dance
By elimination, they'll turncoat once again.
Oh, do you feel, hear the heat of the pyre
I guess, sir -that's why I'm on fire.
And I to be a dying flame a living embers tête-à-tête
Should anybody in gossip remember my name?