Comfort Food

Spaghetti and Waffles.
Dinner and Breakfast.
Tangled and Neat.

I am spaghetti and you are waffles.
I am messy and you are sectioned neatly.
I am complicated and you are simple.
I think in loops and you think in right angles.
I interweave every possible story and you keep things appropriately separate.
I combine my emotions and you use one at a time.
It's hard to find my end and you have defined yours.
I let sauce fly everywhere and you've got perfect little syrup cubicles.
I never know when to stop and you know when you've hit your wall.

Swirls and Cubes.
Different and Incomplete.
Yet so compatible and so fulfilling.

When I cannot see where I begin and end, you mark out my lines and untwist my strings.
When you cannot break free from your thinking blocks, I soften your edges and let the syrup overflow a bit.
When my feet sway and zigzag, you line them back up on the straight and narrow.
When your head gets red and heated, I remind you of what's really important.

I'll add some sugar.
You'll add some spice.
Let's eat.

Little Flame

Each morning when I wake
so to does that little flame within.
Fluttering and whispering,
of magic and love and uncertainty.

And as the day rolls on
the little flame, it grows.
It sputters and sparks, gently finding it's way
through every crevice of my blood-soaked heart.

Winding and turning the flame licks farther,
touching my mind with its scorching boughs.
Reminding me of you and your gentle ways,
reminding me of you and your warmth.

Even while this ice storm howls,
my soul knows no biting cold.
The flame consumes me, envelopes me,
holding me close and lingering on, lingering even in the dark.

It whispers softly into my ear,
all the things I need to hear.
It frolics frivolously through my veins.
It sends shivers up my spine and bumps along my arms.

I've lost all hope of extinguishing this fiery source of excitement
It has proven far to strong, far to determined
to be put out by conventional ways.
It is truly like nothing I have ever known before.

What do they call this phenomenon?
This burning up from within?
This unexplainable joy and anticipation?
What is it, that I might master it's curves and edges!

I feel it when I wake,
I feel it when I sleep.
I feel it in the winter,
even then I feel it's clever heat.

Will it go away?
Will the flames leave my heart charred and black?
Will the glow from its tongue leave my eyes?
I do not need to know, for I will not be afraid.

Little flame, may the wind make you blossom.
Little flame, may your glow be ever present.
Little flame, you're starting to take me captive.
Little flame, you just might set my whole life ablaze.