A slow burning, like embers smoldering from a fire dying hours ago—
that is how you leave me.
I am the embers and you are the oxygen
feeding the fire and snuffing it out all at once.
You are like the wind,
blowing softly across my skin
and leaving a trail of sensation in your wake.
I'm standing with my arms wide,
ready for the embrace,
but unsure of where I'll land.
I try to turn my back to your wind,
but the burning—
that burning leaves clouds of smoke
where you once stood
and I realize it's the fire that
I really crave.
I keep waiting for the final strike of the match—
waiting for the explosion of fire that follows,
but I wonder if it will light up our worlds
or swallow everything in the flames instead.