An old flame,
A dead flame

I was an explosion.
The fuel
that blew the spark.
Together
we lit

But as quickly as we
went up,
we had vanished.
Sucked into the air
without a trace

Nowhere,
desolate,
I
looked to the candle,
who stood elegantly,
having burnt for
months already,
and months to come

The flame
melting the wax,
The wax
feeding the flame

Like all things,
I reasoned,
even the candle will
eventually
die away,

but with grace.
As when the wax runs out,
the flame
flickers
to its death
leaving behind
a smoke
a memory
of their love


Nonexistent,
I wondered
why
I could not be
the wax
that fed the flame,

for I was
the fuel
that blew the spark.