Your red dress fits against

your skin better than my hands

ever will. A flag of fire.

Isn't it innate, the surrender

that follows? I do not have words

to fit my mouth. My tongue breaks

into sparks. You were right, I never know

where I am going but there is smoke

in the trails along your collar bones;

I follow the devastation into

the flames. Heat deformed kisses

shatter in this blasted landscape,

shimmering against the

reflections of desire.

My breath condenses into the prayers

of a pink morning rising beyond

the horizon of your charcoal hair.

Falling back into the weight

of ash and embers I sift through

the remains for something to hold onto

.