be my undaunted lucifer, just because i want to be oxygen to you. you have this way with sparks that forces opera from my lungs. i promise i will not play complacent.

footprints of straw men; an alcoholic perfume; bodies still in coupled loneliness; children after knowledge, the privileged after the gutter; the letters we never wrote; the bills we didn't pay; make them yellow>blue>white, and do it for me. the next time you ask me to bury you, i will.

it's for nothing else, it's only this: you keep me warm. we're allowed to consume each other and the selfishness is well returned. i still know you'll burn me, but not the way that aches in the rain. you'll leave more than ashes in my hands.