#7

A light is lit

On old cobblestone street, the gas

Shushes, I stand there, the amber of,

I am drawn, I am unraveled, loafer heels sucks it’s teeth—

“that’s not real flame,

its only your thoughts, and that feeling

from the glow is bullshit, and don’t be unraveled or

drawn to something that can burn you,

what you should do is replace your fire with hers,

Yours isn’t as important”—alone again, amberish-red

Flame flickers as my heart murmurs an irregular bap,

A strange bip, I climb the body of

the street lamp like an arachnid feverish,

I press my forehead to the hot glass, rolling

side to side.

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