I heard a man once describe love to me by reaching in and taking from his coat a tiny box that rattled having three small matches. And from them he took one out.
He struck it like a stone against the flint, and with awe I watched the spark produce a flame of orange light that reddened with a glint, and burned so bright, so brilliantly and tame.
But here's the shock! For as the flame crawled down and down his arm he did not flinch or shake or stop the flame, my god!, from spreading 'round, till only ashes lay there in his wake.
And worst of all the shock (or so it seemed!)
And worst of all the shock (or so it seemed!) I never heard a cry, nor did he scream.