Matchstick  struck 
smoulder  of smoke
 candle burning       brightly 
memories triggered by scents
of orange, cinnamon, pine
dance in rhythmic flame - 
and I lose myself 
         - willingly 
until the last wisp       of wax 
has burned away.

Thanks for reading day 3 of the advent calendar of poems. I hope your December is going well.

Let me know what you’re up to in the comments…

In the meantime, take it easy.

Paul