Fickle Fires

 To my almost,

To the quicksand I sank in by the folds of your arms.

That you used to spin me in my axis, as you press start.

To the rapid flow of your cool decor.

To the rising beat of the roaring, of the wanting more.

To anyone who ever tried, and was left behind trying. Til our waves meet again.

To my almost, it will always be you, of course.