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.