he was two opposing elements,
the coldest warmth i’ve ever felt.
he was night mixed with light,
flight mixed with fight.
his shoulders full of freckles
were fields of tiny fires,
his hair a molten eruption
spilling down my hands.
he set off bombs inside me,
rendered my forest
a mound of smoky soot,
reached into me
to uproot the undergrowth.
he was loud.
i was listening.
he was bright.
i was willing.
i would have followed him
into the mouths of volcanoes,
built temples for him,
a hearth to rest his head in,
a small wallspace to flicker in,
let him suck up my oxygen.
I wanted to dig into him like a jack o’ lantern,
reach into his pulpy insides
and scoop out sadness with the seeds,
carve a smile into his flesh,
light a candle in his breast,
so he could shine,
but he was too cold.
i kept striking those matches
til my fingers burnt,
and every time the flame
touched his delicate wick,
we’d both go out.