There is too much fire in me

There is too much fire in me
to be described by the soldering iron's tip.

If I were to draw that across my flesh,
   it would all spill out at once.
I'd melt, eaten whole by flames,
    and flow into a pool of molten silver.
I would be borne up through the clouds,
    and grow lighter by the second.
Sublimation would claim me then,
    atoms would scatter, diffuse.
All that energy poured to the air around me,
    an imperceptible increase in temperature.
Particle would excite particle
    until I'm felt only as warmth on your face.

But even that would not be enough.