pyromaniac’s lament

as day breaks
and life impersonates
a fresh start
the lines will always remain drawn in the sand;
not even a high tide of
wishful thinking
will wash them away.

the memory of my love
circling around her,
a common housefly that she has
swatted away time and again
without a second thought.

this journey begins again
with the growing heat of sunrise
but it doesn’t always carry the
anticipated fury of the flame
as I rub her memory together with
my good intentions
in hopes of finding a spark

it’s the gasoline in this pen,
lacing thoughts with combustible connotation
that feeds this growing fire around me…

purpose
coursing through me
like blood
and
oxygen;
our story kindling inside us both,
her skin fanning the flame
into something more tangible than before;
the very idea of her smoldering,
a controlled burn,
lingering long after this flame
was supposed to be extinguished.