i see you're playing
with the fire of truth, the
spark flying, wild
landing on the soft sheets, burning
holes into what was once
neat and now we, we
have to look at the black-brown
edges of emptiness, the
not-where-we-wanted-things-
to-land reality of ashes,
the homelessness of
passion. i see my
self translucently
glass, absent, open.
i see us dancing
messily, and then perhaps
in tandem. i long for more
than subverted desire.
i long for fire
that is not afraid to say,
"i know how to burn shit down."
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