Spilled Ink from the Vault

I thought that fire had cooled,
and yet all it takes is your gentle breath
aimed at the embers buried in ashes, 
and once more I melt as your phoenix rises. 
It seems that still my body yields
even to mere memories of your voice and your touch. 
Here, tonight, you are an unexpected 
(albeit known) phenomenon, 
and the erstwhile desire 
waxes once more
and I find myself again
instinctively responsive to your fancy, 
wishing to be the flame that keeps you warm.
Take me with you,
in your imagination,
as your would carry a lighter in your pocket,
a flint ever ready to spark 
at your whim.