The jar by my bed was but a few months past newly filled with dancing spirits,
sex-hungry and maddened, burning brighter than the feeble glow in the tail,
mere shadow of deeper fire within. Betrayed by reckless passion into my hands,
I in turning then seal the lid over the glass walls cold, surrounding the fiery spirits,
but unable to contain their passion, light brightens the room.

Mere hours later, desire overwhelming, these spirits bright demand to leave,
to join the orgy beyond, the glass laughs at their feeble strength,
dashing bodies full against his unyielding power, crushing themselves,
extinguishing their light, their life, mission unfulfilled, unrequited,
leaving the jar filled with only broken hearts and the echo of laughter.

Turning away from that still echoing laugh to nighted windows,
I place my hands on those cold panes and smell the snow drifting outside.