The dainty little candles in the bathroom
Were purchased for the promise of perfume
For lithe flames that flicker lightly
Despite the water’s constant threats
In the next life, they whisper
Through thin whisps of smoke
Long after their bodies have turned into puddles
Their black wicks to soot and ash
They will come back with no trace of fragrance
No hint of color, no glitter or dried flower
And finding the brittle branch of some hollow fallen tree
Ignite the brightest forest fire for all to see
Poetry for Sale 