the first time you spoke my name – years after,
i wondered if my name tasted bitter to you –
did it feel waxy? like you bit into nostalgia for
the first time since two-thousand-and-something,
and something was always the matter with you –
there were wildfires for you to tend so when
i was ready to ignite, you weren’t there.
the first time i saw fire – i offered myself up
as kindling, because deep down i knew that it
wouldn’t burn hot enough to keep you warm –
toxic? yes, but i put myself second always.
you and i both know why –
you were always meant for something greater,
if by the end of it all, i were a footnote in your
autobiography, then that means for a brief
moment in time,
