There are always little sparks
Created through the friction of
Those two jagged flints though
Never enough to create fire on their own
Naturally, there needs to be a fuel.

Sometimes it’s tissue paper
Sometimes it’s gasoline
But as I’ve learned one way or another
There’ll always be flames between these
Chasms, valleys and gorges.

And the bridges built to cross between the two
Won’t always last. The raw energy will just
Wear away at some but the good ones stay.
Solid. Carved with rock and fortified with steel.
Like a scientist (or an arsonist)
I’ll test every. Single. One.

You were a close call
A swift brush with catastrophe
As we sat through the sets
Smiling at each other as we
Mouthed the words to our favorite songs
And you paid for my ticket.

Just a close call
As we snuck looks
Through the stacks of old
Dusty records
And you talked emphatically
About your favorites
And I listened admiring your voice

Closer still
Than our hands as we
Walked through the streets
Much more silent than
My internal battle on
Whether or not to hold your hand
(Much to my simultaneous relief and
Disappointment, I didn’t)

But I avoided disaster
Involving either embarrassment
And the torture of
rejection twice faced
Or the sheer finiteness
Of what could have been
(I’ve seen how that story
Has ended and I’ve
Destructed from less)

I kept an ear to the ground.
Pressed my cheek to the cool earth
Listening to the roots as they whispered secrets
Described to them from
What the sky saw
But I cannot understand
Nature’s words have no meaning
To silly little girls who
Just want to know everything
But never really care to understand
(I would but that would take effort.)