smoke // closed curtains

You call me cold and distant
because I don’t play by your rules.

Your model citizen hand fits perfectly
in the molding air of a pointing finger,
of blame.

But what do I do with all this fire
that I do not start,
this flame?

The warning sign in my throat tells you to
never leave a burning candle unattended.

But we both know what will happen.

I will be in a dark room,
doors and windows locked,
burning up all the oxygen

until your childhood bedroom
smells like roasted chestnuts,
or vanilla beans,
or whatever bite-sized thing
you fucking want me to be.

And you will know what it’s like
to choke on your own memories.

They say
the bigger they are,
the harder they fall.

But my pulsing heartbeat of a flame
will fall gently and rest on your blankets

until you open the door and the fresh air
will have me erupt into a fiery dance.

I will
burn your
fucking
house down.

Darling,
I will
be the fire
in your loins.

I will
take your breath away.

I will
burn.

And you will
catch fire.

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