I Lit a Candle

Last night I lit a candle, and a dull glow met my eyes.

My shapeless body reached the ceiling, with a sharp black silhouette as disguise.

This little flame exposed my skin, a caramel painted on rough canvas.

Soft light showed the silhouette had no tone, absorbing the walls in her stances.

Frizzy brown curls obstructed my vision from this soft shape mirroring my posture.

A mindless reflection conceived from a candle, and I from a mindless encounter.

No eyes, no nose, no stomach, no thoughts, a blessed darkness outlined by fire.

A weightless figure with her crown from my hair, but no sense of my envious desire.

A taunting thought of a flat existence, and my body being of no bother;

I can dance along any surface, and exist where dying light wanders.

The candle gives warning: her life is ending, wax spills over the silver plate.

Her edges and form hovering above me, depleting as I lie down and wait.

My better self is leaving now, and her light follows her slowly.

A dark blanket covers my eyes and wraps around me so closely.

My friend is gone, but she left a gift. An idea my mind can ponder.

I cannot see my features, my movement, or my place, she left me with darkness to wander.

A longing to be a shape with no detail, and only moves as it mirrors.

So in my head I dance upon surfaces, and the person I'm copying is greater.