I was his first,
uncomfortably happy with him
when I was in his arms,
voluntarily blind to his worst demons.
I saw their shadows and
the pointed footprints on his heart
and followed him anyway.
He didn't start the fire
but rather fueled it.
With his presence, the heat in him grew
to a towering height
I had never seen before.
The sweet warm flames in him
had changed into something dangerous,
but still I stayed near
and would give up neither
him or he
who I let in.
I think he broke him with his presence.
Trying to smother his fire,
never truly succeeding
and burning himself every time.
Never accepting a world where
his demons
could live with him
still whole.
Jealousy and mistrust added to my fire,
but it wasn’t really flames
so much as weight in my chest.
I was his until I wasn’t,
but for him
it was never understood.
Six days.
He kissed me
and I let it happen, but not at first.
He picked me up
and carried me away
from the heavy heat
to somewhere soft and new
where romance was a dream,
an escape.
He was sweet and kind
and silly.
Always a smile found
on his lips,
in his deep, dark eyes.
I suspect there is a boy inside of
the man he is,
behind his smiling eyes.
How could I resist?
He couldn't wait.
No patience.
The passionate and headstrong
never seem to be anyways.
I know I could never keep
neither he
nor him,
but I wonder
why I stayed by his fire,
why he kissed so sweetly.
