Heat of the Heart

Your glow
draws me in
to the heart
of this forge.

The fritzing
flaming furnace
singes skin
and shrivels my hair.

Something hypnotic
in the heat
that washes
like smothering static
over my face
compels me closer.

The grace that each
molten, flowing, glowing
churning mass of metal
alings my way with yours
makes me sing.

In the
thrusting vibratory roar
of the bellows breathing
I hear my calm call.

I smell the heat and
hesitate to breath.

Would it burn to hold
your hand in mine?