Passion

You drowned me in a story yesterday,

About ancestors who danced with the fire,

Leaping around their legs,

Funnelling from the midpoint,

At their chest.

Old men, to me,

The way you tell it,

Talking about grandfathers and great grandfathers,

These men who will forever have been,

Younger than me.

The ones who licked their tongues,

On waxen leaves,

And fed the orange stumps with new life,

Or otherwise,

With the weight of history.

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