I often feel as though poets are dragons
Our tongues, flames of
Passion, fury, envy or love.
There is both creation
And destruction
In the way we burn.
Because before the fire gets out
It must work its way through
Veins, lungs and throats,
Scorching our insides in the hope
That it can scald you also.
Know, that if our words burn,
We are already blistered.