pretense is all about the "tense"

you, flames -- i, raindrops

the rain
trickles in
the holes
in the window.

slowly, unassumingly, hitting
the crackled white windowsill.
resting near, the audible
movement of flames dance
in stark contrast to the
pitter-patter of the weather.

you, flames: your dance is
dangerous. what i should
not touch in my mind, in
my heart is blurred with
curiousity. the blues of your
eye push and pull with the
reds and yellows of your
outer body --

the rain
trickles in
the holes
in the window.

i, raindrops: i am falling.
hitting in and out; sitting
on this windowsill and
creeping down the sides,
bringing with me splinters
and scars, bringing with
me every bit i fight to
keep hidden --

you, flames, i, raindrops,
we cannot mix - our
combination is deadly. pushed
together and we extinguish
each, creating an
evaporated puff of smoke --

(but when we extinguish
each other, do we really?
or is the dance transformed
into an eternal particle,
floating hidden in the sky?)

the rain
trickles in
the holes
in the window
and the flames
dance beneath.