I could

i could love you
if i wanted
could smother you with
the fast burn
of wildfire passion that
sweeps right through
and steals your soul.

i could love you
right now even
just drop this match
to my feet
and watch the cord
of connection between
us spark to life.

i could love you
next month maybe
when the slow glow
of affection grows
like fresh grass in
a field scorched
by her untamed flames.

i could love you
if you wanted
serve you sweet kisses
and wipe away
the ash if you'd
only say you
would not burn me.

--

April PAD Day 7 - love or anti-love

When smoke gets in your eyes

How could I
see the smoke signals you
were sending me

when I didn't
even notice that our home
was on fire

--

April PAD Day 3 - message

Put out

She breathes fire
the smell of singed wood
the subtle soot
sitting on happy words 

It lingers
in the corner of her eyes
an insatiable heat
burning into her thoughts

The burdens
The book
The smiles
The love

Lost

You could see
in the corner of her smile
a wet sigh
extinguishing the fire in her soul

 carried in the flames of her laugh

 --

Archived from Feb. 11, 2008 on Rising from the Ashes

After burn

It's been awhile since I wrote about our house fire in July 07, but it's always therapeutic and my thoughts about it are still evolving.

AFTER BURN
There is nothing left here,
just the shambles
of our past life together

heaps of blackened pictures and
memories of a
past that's better off forgotten.

We paint each other's faces
with the soot
and no longer recognize ourselves.

In my wake

I left a trail of
tears behind me.
Thankfully, they snuffed the fires.

My world is on fire

The smell of singed wood
still gives me
chills. Three years have past.

THE THINGS WE LOST

My street is blocked off
and red lights flash
and bounce off of the shabby
houses of my neighbors.

I've been drinking and
singing at a karaoke bar
with my friend and am unsure
why I can't park on my street.

A police officer waves me by
with his flashlight, looks at
me like I'm stupid when I
ask what has happened.

His face quickly changes
when I tell him I live here.
"Which house?" he asks. "Third
one on the right," I reply.

"Park here," he says, and
escorts me to the scene where
people line the sidewalks
and three large fire trucks

are wrapping up their hoses
and finishing their jobs,
just as I start to realize
all that I have lost.