(a revision of “A Man’s Conversation with Regret, an Old Friend” because I think it’s lame)
She was the Earth and you had no business
Her affection calmed storms,
her kiss a glimpse of the heaven you’ll
never set foot in (as if you believed in ‘stupid shit’ like that).
I guess what I’m trying to say is
she loved you; she loved your demons
even when they played with matches,
burning her accidentally, slowly, like flames
licking trees in a wildfire.
You knew she had a kerosene heart.
Singed limbs strewn about, coated
in a fine layer of ash and turmoil, haunt
of your sweet nightmares. They curl ten brittle twigs around
your pathetic slumber, but you never stop
to wonder why you wake each morning
with stale alcohol on your tongue. Or perhaps
a cocktail of lighter fluid and reckless affection.