I'm looking at my fireplace, thinking about Titanic. What did you expect?

The flames licking up, tongues swiping at the marble surrounding the fireplace
The shells of different colors, different tones through which you glimpse the stone
Concentric layers, like a memory of tears without reason
They’re sharp, pointed, but the way they move so quickly makes it fluid in a way
And yet the warmth pushes all thoughts of the ice cold waters far from my mind

I recently watched a movie, with people who nearly froze
And some of them did
I can’t feel the way they did, in fact I feel too warm.
I started the fire, because my feet felt like the sharp, sneaking ice I had seen
But it isn’t my feet that feel like they’re burning

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