A Box of Used Candles

Some days I look back on pictures of old flames

I think about how we held the heat so close to us

How the wax melted and dripped down the sides

How some days we burnt hotter than the sun

We danced in the darkest of nights

We we're the light the added color to everything in the room

We flickered and begged for oxygen

We lost the fight and extinguished to smoke

Now I have a box full of used candles

I still admire the dried drips of wax

The color and the smell

Although there maybe no wick

There will always be some heat I can feel