and he cinder,
ashes to my pyre. A match
that not catch fire. A grey
cold lump of coal

was he, a roll around
crunchy'crimson fallen
leaves. Billowing smoke stung
the air. Bleeding lips kiss

to bare.  Pressing breast
bone. Dead eyes don't
blink. They stare into a cornflower
sky. Body limp as noodles

in my Pad Thai. The burn to
ignite to ashes holed up in a urn
was my oversight!  Next time
I'll learn not to be smite.