light my pyre
As spring ascends I recall the spring most recently past.
I was flushed with a certain disconcerting sort of love. It lay very heavy on my tongue, like funereal coins; copper currency which I exchanged for a touch from the night static. By May the heat of the air had attained an intoxicating strength. I kept a corkscrew in my car and inhabited caves.
Each time I went underground, I stole as much as pockets could reasonably carry. A handful of rough glances, a scratchy black bouquet. Cigarettes and joint-hits and sips of wine, purple as blood in the veins. I was so smeared with ash, so doom-bound, so alive: Full of electric light; the flint of fear, and night, and morning.
candles photo courtesy: hannah jewett