flame fingers (white hot in the hurtcentre)

Right now
I am an unfocused
Blowtorch

I turned myself up and up
So that you would feel me

You went farther and farther
Away

Until my flames couldn't
Even touch your fingertips
Couldn't even kiss the back
Of your neck as
You look away from me
To planets that
I can't see

(Whose names trip
My tongue because
They are not my clan
Name)

In your absence
I burned harder,
White hot in the hurtcentre,
Orange tendrils reaching
Out to find you and,
Finding not you, to
Hold anyone they touch.

But my tendrils are
Still flames;
The harder I grasp
The more they burn

People are, maybe,
Initially attracted to the heat,
They step closer wanting
To warm their cheeks.
When they see how ready
I am to engulf them

(To burn them up
Because they
Are not you)

They step quickly
Back opting for
Less intense
More predictable less
Deadly heat.

I will take myself up to
The top of a mountain
With oxygen to feed my flames
And space to spit my hurt
And stars to dance with
Stars to stretch my flame fingers out
To
To hold

Stars that will not run away