the wooden sticks are in the fire
and never have I ever
seen your face in the flames.
the hair on your knuckles singing,
the hair on my head smelling like smoke,
I will still be breathing charcoal as I fall asleep.

I will still be tasting melted sugar on my chapped lips,
salt in the hollow at the base of my throat.
incandescence behind my closed eyes.

we flicker and we fall.

play that song. the one with the
sweeping rhythm, the one you could
lose a person in.

lose a person in it.

close your eyes.
swing a little. dance that dance that looks
like spontaneity, like you’re keeping me guessing,
like you’re waiting to take flight.

don’t go.

I put the pen to the paper and
I try to make the meaning,
you dance
near the fire and you try not to get burned.

I walk back home and close the door
and you sing me to sleep
silently
from across the street.

sing a little sweeter. I’m still here.

thank you for that bonfire smile.
thank you for the warmth.
we have seen this movie many times
but I must confess that I still gasp.
I still weep.
I still beg you not to leave me right before

you leave me.

I have written this poem many times
waiting for a different ending
but never have I ever been this close
to the flames.

set me alight.

you are a scar that only I can see
in the mirror.
I have already thrown too many pieces of paper
into the flames trying to write you as
a beauty mark or a burn.

come here.

touch me.

it has been many years since I have dreamed
of breathing fire.