visiting the southern altar

it was
a short season
of love

a brilliance burning cross
the witching skies

a passion laid down on the southern altar
a quick hand, dealt and admired
then shuffled into the next round

black powder illumination
much unlike the cradled cottage flame
not much gained by containing

a clashing of souls
swords and eyes drawn

then lowered
in recognition

and set aside for a different exchange.