A silver weave of bangles
that you placed on your wrist
held a star, a snowflake
and proof of your fire-kissed
soul. I could only speak words
that lingered on my tongue
and could not see them
clasped to silver- hung-
and fighting the flames
of your restless heart.
Pressed upon my mind,
Such are the things that fuel and start
the creation of gemstones.
Taps and Ratamacues 
I like the repetition of silver and fire, each time used in a different way, coupled with a different idea, building in new meaning to the story you’re weaving. As always, I love your use of rhyme and meter.
Thanks for your observations Melinda. I appreciate the feedback.
You’re welcome 😉 I await your next installment