Prose Revisited

There’s a moment when I look at you
And no speech is left in me
My tongue breaks
Then fire races under my skin
And I tremble and grow pale
For I am dying of such love
Or so it seems to me

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A moment
When it seems (a) tongue races my skin
I break and tremble
Such love grow(s) pale
And I look to you
There’s no speech for me
I am dying of fire left
In me
Under (me)
And then at my (core is a cinder)
So is (it to be quenched) or (burst into flame anew)