you keep your lighter
sandwiched in a niche amidst
the Spirit cigarettes
you carry, a spark
hidden in the breast-pocket
of the jacket you borrowed
from me several months ago
and neglected to give back.
like Prometheus, pilfering fire
from the gods, you stole
the warmth from the stars
and built a hearth
in my chest, a warmth
nurtured by the mirth
that tugs at the corners
of your mouth every time
you laugh at my expense.
i'll cherish your candle close
to my heart, even when life
inevitably tears us apart.
everything ends eventually,
but at least we lived
as if we'd never burn out.