October Bonfire

The bonfire didn't stop your shivering.
You sat, knees drawn, lip quivering;
a vortex of smoke swirled skyward.
Primal paths jettisoned ash
in an ethereal fae dance,
and alighted in your hair
as ephemeral grey snowflakes.
Drawn to you as I was.

Heat radiated outwards and upwards
gifted by the sand's last memory of sun,
and my first of you
seared into me
deeply as the firebrands imprinted
on our retinas in brilliant red
after furtive glances across the coals.

You buried your feet in the sand
toed curled and clutching
probing deeper, colder
wicking off the heat building inside you.
Your lips pursed; our eyes met,
and I realized you shivered not from cold,
       but anticipation.