In a previous life
the one leased before this
I was burned
in the Cocoanut fire.

To the nines
in a silky red-ruby dress
awaiting
revelry in the Grove
flirting the
crowds until
intimacy acquired
escaped into the
Melody Lounge.

That precycled scene
one autumn night
sleeps dormant
this life
unless
kindled by the smell
of acrid sulfer-ized air
or the sight of pitch
unexpected.

Then to re-live
transiently re-feel
flame poured fronds
from Melody's ceiling
char blacking my arm
blister gaped
as a thousand
racking wails
torment  me.

Too late to flee
stone hypnotized watching
the creeping black
consume my extremities
I stared immobile
immolation complete.
Burned in the Cocoanut fire.