2: A poem, hot.

[alasanon]

electric, she walks here and there
leaving footprints of fire in her wake
electric, her hair blazing like bonfires
cities being buried, going up in smoke
this night tastes like ashes in the making
recognition of the power that is hers
impassioned, we call out to her to save us
create us consume us condemn us revive us
impassioned, she calls the conflagration
triumphant, she walks a circuituous path
youth incarnate as we burn around her