The dragons in my hair provide
so provident a flame,
that burnishes the sky around
and grants a blazing mane.
The dragons that I keep with me
char all to flaky black,
til close about my head there sits
a dusky midnight, packed.
These dragons light the fires inside,
when passion’s ember wakes,
blistering and crackling with
desires, loves, and hates.
And when the dragons turn their breath
upon what lies around,
I step out coolly from the ashes,
they do not weigh me down.
My dragons, my companions, my
pyrologists sublime,
may bind me or may free me,
but I know that they are mine.
