Is It Poetry - Fire

Sleeping dreaming your hand
wanders down across the
softness that is your
stomach.
Winding down across the
down of fine soft trees
to the heart of a
blast furnace.
Burning your finger you
scream out waking
the dew of beaded
drops quince
the fire.

Is It Poetry

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fire-89/