this is fine

i was a dog in your burning velvet room.
sat still as a stake drove into the earth.
a house was never my idea. houses can catch fire.
i wanted to sleep on my back & look up
at the cold blue-black inflammable night.
if i had a say, we would have wandered
across the bruised fields & strip malls
talking about nothing but furniture & utensils.
will you be there to help me clean up
the ash? the flames will take longer
than you think. i decide to name them like
children. the closest one i call "yours"
& the farthest i call "mine." will you 
bring me an apology from the kitchen? 
i have no idea what i would even do with it
but i want something to sit on the table
to stare at while everything comes apart. 
you promised to remain in frame when they come
but then your took to the attic to chew 
on smoke. everything true rises too high
to reach. we will not be starting over from scratch.
we will be culling the dust for buttons. 
with bare feet i pace & feel the floor board's heat.
there was probably a moment where 
we could have tried harder to put it out.
could have rummaged in closets to find material.
dosed the fire with salt or crosswords or
well water. instead we stared like shadows
of ourselves. loved some of the flickering
& how it made everything that'd hurt us
true & tangible. permitting the fire, 
you promised no more weekends for us
& no more mondays & no more thursday evenings:
just a few ripe days to pry the lid off of. 
come back & sit with me. the burning
is more beautiful by the second. 
when it is over i'll want to see your hands.
i'll want to collapse into you & tell you
how scared i was to see walls crack open 
like a jar of red heat. when i do please be
gentle. lay on your back with me 
& wait for night to come and
sift through the embers. 

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