this is the progress of things
burning boys like him
chase after doe-eyed and malleable girls like her
that will be grasped too tightly
and one day evaporate like smoke
into the air
for awhile every sunrise will be baby-pink with hope
and every sunset crimson with desire
but soon he will go to sleep
and image that he can see the seasons passing before his eyes
the captured cache looses luster
and the sunsets are hidden
behind thick layers of clouds
he will say that what follows is hard
but it is easy
like blowing out a candle
you purse your lips and you exhale
and the light that was there moments ago
is gone
curling smoke up into the air
the boys like to play with fire
and the most dangerous game always ends with the same thing.
loss.