I never meant to love you this way-
this way that is
like cancer
or a forest fire
like how no one really plans these things
but when they transpire they are
beautiful
& detrimental
the way tragedy brings out the most honest versions of ourselves
the way flames dance vengefully through innocent places-

you showed me how to love literature
how to look at poems like they were written from
open ended finger tips in the dark
you can’t really see where they end if they end
but I am
always picturing myself reading what you’ve written
feverishly rubbing my skin trying to ward off the goose bumps
you tell me to beware of the boring people
their only art is burning hatred
you tell me sex is what you do
when you cannot sleep

draw me deeper into that dramatic allure
of destroying my childhood autonomy
I will get drunk every Monday and tell you what you want to hear:
your writing makes me feel alive
in a world that’s been dead for years
I watch you try to revive each blade of grass-
watch your weathered fingerprints fade
off this bottle of scotch

we can plan the rest of our lives somewhere dark and smoky
I can pretend I’ve never seen you cry
I can pretend
it wasn’t

magnificent