You are dizzying.

Blossoming at my lips and coating my tongue.

Fire fly with scorching train

Illuminate my cheeks.

You leave my brow like a layer of sleet. 

Ugly snowflakes. Those damp beads.

Strung up across my pores, as if each hung by a tiny noose.

I will never know how you may burn my flesh, 

Yet still forge ice from my bones.

You have that habit. 

Forming orchestras from my rib cage, pulling me apart like a wishbone. 

The fire of that mismatched jingle. 

My xylophone chest, your trenches.

I cover my ears, to muffle the crashing of china.

Yet still I feel the bubblegum pop of lungs straining, 

The tentative flickering of the flame in my chest.
 

When all is done, I still feel the dense black smoke billowing, 

From between my teeth, blistering the velvet of my throat.

Soon you will scald my teeth to ash,

Out of spite.

Tombstones crumbling into lifeless grit,

Those forgotten graves.

Uncanny.

 

I fail each day, whilst reaching for you,

Fingers drenched in thick mucus.

Blood, with all the aromatics of a burning house.

This crime scene, the only proof you ever existed at all.

One day I will reach you.

My fickle flame. 

 

I fear that will be the day, when we both go out.