a slow burn

we don’t call this love, but

the charring is all the same

 

you keep looking up at me

every conversation digs us deeper

 

& I’ve loved my own long enough

to know you’ll always choose

 

the husband, maybe the saddest part is

I don’t even blame you,

 

just tend to the dying cinder of us,

not-very-deep-down at all,

 

I always knew we’d be terminal

hearth & heart are a pyre each

 

their own, for me, every feeling a smoldering

& you, every desire something to be extinguished

 

this is for the pride of knowing

I’m going to lose & playing the game, anyway

 

I speak & feel my words

ash mid-sentence

 

& I know my place, so close to the fire

I don’t even realize when I start to burn —

 

I play my part,

all ember & searching

 

you play yours,

entrancing & gone

 

all this not-together

the smoke rising

 

that eventually

becomes nothing