Spit Fire

I strike a match
And you’re alive.
Sulfur to light.
Your name the air
I begin to speak.
We’re two flames
Learning each other’s spark
Before learning the space
Between distance.
I’ve never held a matchstick
Until it’s almost devoured
The entire stick.
To feel it shiver before it burns
Tossed out of my hand.

I carry your heat
Your well being
Across the fire of my heart.
Some nights my chest glows
Beneath a window of skin.
Through my throat
Smoke escapes.
And I trace your outline
In the dark.

From what you give
I’ve learned to carry other pieces
Of you.
Unstuck. Still dreaming.
I swallowed my own flame
With nowhere else to go.
Trying to stay lit
Without the cupped hands of your name
To keep it warm.

I swallowed my own flame
After snapping so many pieces of you.
Trying to keep you alive
Inside of me.
Learning that with distance comes
Wind.
I’ve been told that souls
Don’t separate.
But they’ve never held a matchstick
Long enough to feel it quiver
Always aware.
Always reaching.

Meanwhile
Inside of me,
My shadow dances at the tip
Of the stick,
Learning how to spit fire.