Jeremiah 36 (Free-writing exercise)

The scroll is beautiful in its burning;
the ink smells slightly sweet -
it reminds me of my wife's hair,
when she scents it with rose and cinammon.

The flames are reflected in the king's crown:
A stubborn man, who thinks that words can die.
Next he will tell me that love is eternal,
when in fact it is no more than lust
mixed in with a little bit of dopamine -
that bitch Sheila must be playing with his mind:

I've seen her breasts through the chiffon robes
she let slip at the royal banquet (pre-fast, of course:
Even his majesty knows not to screw too much
with the religious establishment.)
and they are glorious, like the words of God,
or my wife's kisses, which, like the scroll,
burn slowly inside of me,
until they have eaten the ashes.