If I knew how to strike up
a conversation I'd have stacked
matches to the sun set and back by now
so when you rose in the morning
you'd wake to find your name in the sky
But as it stands I am not the man
who created fire nor the one after
who dabbled in it's practice
No I am the one quietly admiring
the glow from afar yearning for it's warmth
Carefully masking my intent
by tossing acronyms to the wind
I'll play the failure eagerly
awaiting your approval