there is no such thing as a candid romance,
just words and poses to make people want what you're pretending you've got.

you reek of sulphur, you always did.
the lone match found at the start of an arson.
an insult, a dare:
the embodiment of the phrase,
"make me."

she was so queer,
and looked like my lucky clear lighter;
i could watch the fuel run down
with each cigarette and firecracker lit.

there is no romance
just different ways to start fires.