It comes around again. We fall in and out, baptised once, twice, three times; waving - not drowning. In the midst of the splendour we lose our minds, we desire to lose ourselves, smuggled within a lover's breast. Their scent infuriates us. Intoxicated, we long to be maddened, swept up and away by the turmoil, crushed by an exquisite insanity.
How many times? How many times can we throw ourselves back into the fire? I have been burnt, charred, gutted. Shame on me, as soon as that glow implies a blaze, back I go, a Phoenix in reverse, enlivened by diving back to the embers, longing to be reincarnated and destroyed .
