Burned
Previously published by Wilde Boy
Anne Le i g h Pa rri sh
two little circles below her elbow
reach for her porcelain hand
on different planes
as if the arm had been held
and gently turned -
as if the one who touched his lit
cigarette to her skin
felt a bit of whimsy as he considered which
spot to kiss next
here? or here?
her input necessary,
torture a partnership,
a feedback loop,
a cycle that tightly spins
lit a match with steady hands,
and never let it fall
which explains all the other spheres beneath the
fabric of her clothes
the galaxy he put there in honor of how
he burned, himself,
in his own big bang,
flung across the heavens in search
of something to cherish
to make himself whole
his joy at finding her
hotter than any star
she loved him for a time
until arguments became circular
and logic inverse
as if they’d never been in line
liquor the curve he slid down
while she sat up straight —
when she worked herself free of her ties
she doused his passed-out body with
gasoline he kept in a can
in case the end came, or the big one hit,
or the country went mad,
30
Cauldron Anthology