We built a fire of clumsy promises,
and every night we would sit but its warm embered bed.

Then in the morning I would go and find
broken sticks and branches to keep its hunger alive,

but as I would forage those long thistled trees
I envied you in your tiresome sleep.

And in my chest began to glow
a comforting flame with embers cold.

Then my heart with copper hands
stoked the flame’s harsh demands,

and from my thin, chimneyed throat
came sticky words of thick, black smoke.

But your sooty hand no more mine found
for fear of love’s flame going out,

and now I sit by my fire alone
with nothing to warm our cold, empty home.

 

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