Wick Send

Wanting to find out what happens to a candle in a breeze
Is like asking politely where one came from.
I checked what was obvious in secret, as meddling
Hands may hurt innocent investigations.

Button tapping may not get me anywhere, success
Nonetheless it has brought me, so smoke.
Waiting got me checking for the white icon, pressed for pressing
Times. And still no joy, but give me a cigarette ‘n I’ll act as coy

For that is what you want isn’t it? Excitement, isn’t that a thing of earlier days?
Contrarily as it is; my excitometer is active, its knows
You will reply. I know the candle will go out, and where I came from,
The flame still laps, hardy and clear - irregular

That this comparison is making sense, still alight - it is great.
The screen has been dark for a while, I can wait.