The Dance
The flames whoosh and sway with the music
Alive with the breath of the wind, they dance from the touch of excess oxygen
A ravenous hunger drives the clementine tails, as they gnaw hungrily at their meal
His pirouette’s only coax their bite, and as he twists and turns, operatic melodies play
Hmm’s and haw’s sound from the frilled spectators as they revel in his final performance
He is a coal, a kettle, a campfire
Creation and destruction in tandem
As the fat underneath his flesh boils and the bones beneath crack
He devolves, beautifully
Gracefully
No sound except the violent degradation of his body, the accompanying orchestra, and the omnipresent flames
Convulsions cease, the music stops
A standing ovation, adjectives are hurled
Sublime, cathartic, peerless
Still, the flame jostles about in a shimmy
Licking its chops after a fine meal
The curtain closes before it begins to sputter and wane
A dance with flame, however short, is still beautiful
