i wouldn't say love,
would pull you by the backs of biceps,
make you body-oriented: body toward
another body, me. and click-clack elbows
loosely toward you, my joints on string
for you, joints like a puppet for your pull.
you always tightened like a steady wring,
i dripped like a rag of kerosene
and yes, there was ignition, and yes,
you ignited me. it's good to burn
a steady burn flesh-wise, good to be
a fire and a flame. good still to turn
to ash beside, if the arsonist remains.