5.
I was late to come to love him.
By the time I arrived he was old.
He had already been destroyed.
He had wearied of all light.
Even the kind moon burnt his mind.
He had murdered his brother.
Those who knew better avoided him.
But I was unafraid and giving.
His flame did not burn me,
because I was full of firey wonderment,
overbrimming. A bright
flame of anger, arousal and innocence.