she was like liquid fire
everything she touched would turn to ash
and she touched me, dear god
her hands were warm like summer
she smelled like cinnamon and
betrayal

it was a bright sunday afternoon
I had just bought flowers
for her to kiss
her breath was decaying them
the fire, burnt them into nothing but
a pile of red and purple ash;
a lot like my heart

her hair smelled like *** and
sweat; I lean in closer
but I was harmfully ignorant
and didn't see the signs
of my lover
slowly turning over
for another