Fire Horse

December. Boardrooms. Glances over coffee.
You from another city — me, trying not to show.
We played the game of «almost» and «maybe» —
Both knowing where this silent movie goes.

The final day — a coin in your palm's hollow:
A fire horse to keep your new year's luck.
You smiled. No need for calm to follow —
The heat between us had already struck.

Then — in front of everyone — your hand reached mine.
No words. Just eyes. Deep, slow, and true.
«Stay in touch, yes?» — warm, kind, like wine.
«Absolutely» — with a sly smile, knew.

No kiss. No promise. Just that glance —
The echo that haunts a sleepless night.
A coin. A handshake. One last chance
To turn a spark into lasting light.

You flew away. The horse stayed with you.
I stayed here, replaying every scene.
One December changed the way I knew —
A fire horse between us, still unseen.

But galloping. Somewhere. In the space
Between your city and the one I keep.
And I believe — one day you'll leave a trace
Not in my palm — but where I fall asleep.