warmth.
a fire that needs kindling.
it’s dying out,
we’ve lost the tinder stick.
so i blow.
i fill up my lungs until they hurt:
inhale;
exhale;
my head spins and there is no air.
i do it again,
i don’t save any for myself.
i am dizzy.
the ash is swirling
up in the air.
inhale.
exhale.
my chest is going to burst.
the ash is settling on my skin,
tattooing the harsh reminder
of how much i give.
inhale.
exhale.
i can no longer see.
inhale. exhale.
i have done all that i can,
all that remains is my soul.
my heart has abandoned me,
my lungs have died.
my mind is on the outs with me,
she says i shouldn’t even try.
do i throw it into the embers, too?
perhaps that’s all it needs to stay alight forever,
but i am too tired now.
i never listen.

You promised kisses
beneath the old oak

You said you would give
youself to me then

Under the summer's
eager stary eyes

But they came
and cut the oak down

But not before
you left town

Now all I have
is the promise

Of firewood for those
cold lonely nights

The bitter cold
nips at my neck
but I linger outside
if only to get a whiff of
the smoky smell
of firewood burning
that makes me nostaglic
for winter days.