To touch, like hot wax in the
Basin of a candle’s white-hot pool,
Is exquisite. I find childlike
Delight in toying with its
Temptation, its sticking-in
And poking at its aspects.
The tranquility of the candlelight
Saturated the room and filled
All sorts of riddles in my mind,
Eyes hungry for candlelight, my
Fingers thirsty for the prod and cool
Heat of it. Perfectly innocent I
Explore its ticklish pain burning
Pleasantly away at my prints, now
Smooth as a natural formation,
Encased in once-wet wax, as if
Eroded by time, moulded in curiosity.
We have all done this with candles. And not just the kids in the audience, either. Mums and dads, you know what I mean.