Burn

The hole your fire burnt into my chest is crusted brown and black around the edges
    my opaque nails pick and flake the skin from the center
as it continues to drop out wisps of smoke
    the streams are too heavy to swim up to the ceiling these days
and they gather around my toes with my ashes
    your fire nipped my skin until it shrunk into tiny red matter
I appreciated that I glowed with the burn
    but this blackened film, this hardened aftermath is so unwelcome and cold

Let me just remember when we breathed the bold scent into the back of our throats
    and eased it down to our lungs
when the heat spilled energy into my veins as you made your tunnel through my chest
    and I mourn for the brightness it forced out across the dark walls
and the crackling noises emanating from the depth you carved out from between my breasts
    but the leftover hissing is insufficient in comparison
streaking through the rubble that once lit your face
    let me remember your palms pushing into the embers, your fingers sinking in
until you were elbow deep, my insides burning away for you
    how I donated my heart and bone to your flame, to revel in the intensity

But you stopped at the elbow, you stopped at my spine
    you were gone, and the bright pit shriveled and scabbed and ebbed down
and I'm flicking at the shell and sucking the air to remember
    the senses you took with you when you breathed in and left me alone so suddenly

These matches do nothing for me, but I gather them desperately
    and I still light them by the dozen and open my throat for their pathetic little flare
filling myself with the paltry heat my body refuses to maintain
    in its spoiled attempt to stomp out anything trying to burn as bright as you
it remains deadened, the smoke still falling down like a liquid puddling on the ground
    how hysterically my body yearns for your fire to rip it clean of this squalid overgrowth
how quickly I would throw myself into the sun if you were its maker.