The girl burned to death in the fire. In her baptism by fire her will to live was tested and her pain was religious and in her final seconds she saw God's eyes that defied her in those seconds that were like minutes she let out a blood curdling growl that would freeze the blood of Genghis Khan. Her clothes burned off and her elegant graces defined in the light of the flames. Her wonderful skin charred. There she is now, her devil-anger gone and the house just simmering, the thing that happened that would make a devout monk jealous over and the music of the firemen and people and her body in the carbon of the wood and other materials as if it were never anything else like the bark of the tree in the songbird's song.
Before she died the girl in my arms. Her skin and her hair in the sunlight in my arms. Against the world that took from her what it wanted without giving back and exploited her kindness and moved about her too quickly like a pack of wolves that threatened to tear her away with it but couldn't in my arms. I said to her I will take you from this hour to the next like this like birds in flight like a house in a tornado. She without fear limp as a feather in my arms. This beauty created for me for the world to take from her and to appease my will. For me to save and for me to break. She a woman for it and me a man for it.
The red of that sunset that I saw from above the clouds. The sun encased in the horizon like a jewel, like a pearl peaking out from the oyster. War-clouds marching on beneath me to do battle in a hurricane-skirmish too far ahead to see. She was betrayed more than once. She cried after sex and I said go ahead and let it out. My love overabundant like a well overflowing. Something wrong with it. I ran my hand along her back and legs and arms that were for her and along the tender parts that were for me. Her cool skin that glistened. That belied the flames that came from within after all, that destroyed the love that soared for me and for you who aspired to have it, too.