twist upward, rosy
spirals of vermillion,
ruby, wine, crimson, violet
shading to amethyst, blue as black
logs smoulder on stone, my hands are grateful.
Etheree form, one of my favorites. Syllable count of one (I started with the title for this poem), and down to 10, usually describing natural phenomena–plants, gardens, scenery, etc–and including as many of the senses as possible. I missed taste in this one. Hmmm…how to taste fire?