Love’s Great Burning Example

I often dream of Love— (she was

stood center in my room). And w/

warm hands, she enclosed my space.

 

W/ one light, flickering:

The cold stew of my

collapsed grey lungs

hit the floor, steaming.

 

And Love, she squirms. Love, she murmurs my name.

 

I have to wonder if I’m doing any of it right.

In her eyes, maybe I am. Maybe it’s fine.

 

To idle in a drive-thru lane:

Five-second kisses between windows,

at best, when we’re hot—

but—honestly,

asleep by ten, most days,

more often than not.

 

*

 

I’m at the center of this room w/ her.

Words stretched out—

from then to now.

Nothing, I wager, explains it better.

 

Under lamplight,

spread beneath plastic,

words begin bleeding into more words,

held tightly to a chest, a microphone poised under lips.

 

“A heartache was stacked for years as a fire hazard—as

Love’s Great Burning Example; she closed her hands

on more of my intimate space.”

 

He said, while hot,

but asleep by ten, most days,

more often than not.

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