They say you are fire

from the candles

of the souls you lit

but arsonists wear armors

and I want to look within.

Your words, I know,

are bare,

naked on lavender sheets.

I could just lay here and see

your eyes speak poetry

and from the

few pages I've seen,

this, I know,

"The home is only

as beautiful as its

windows."

Dear human,

please let me in.

There's a first version of this poem and I wrote it for one of my favorite poets, Christopher Poindexter. (Hence, the references.)

Now I just wanna share and dedicate this to all the beautiful human beings who've been keeping a brightly lit candle inside them, even if the wind seems to be too strong. :)