Smoke Drifting from A Match

You struck the match
before I knew it.
It wasn’t the light that got me
it was the smoke,
steaming from the top of my head.

The way it dangled,
like all the things we never said
to each other.
The things I kiss without knowing
how long they’d last.

A redhead with tan skin.
We were never fire
not in its truest sense.
We lived in the moment after.

The smoke that spread like a shadow
tame but settled,
everywhere but nowhere at the same time,
floating until we’re out of view.
After all, fire burns out too quick
sometimes without warning.
But we still feel.

You struck the match
before I knew it.
A hard scrape, without warning.

Next thing I knew, I was burning for you
burning to hold you,
burning to devour you,
burning to be near you.

Passionately lazy,
not caring where we drift,
so long as we head in the same direction
together.

Where you breathe,
the flame on top my head
grows and licks everything around
everywhere but nowhere at the same time,
lingering by the heat,
open and wild,
living in the moment after.

I do nothing but breathe you in
until we feel small
and everything else feels
bigger.
Still warm.
Still you.
Still able to feel.