after almost three decades
of hot summers and
that many tepid winters
i realize 

                               i am my own fire.
        the arsonist of my devotion.


your face is the mirage
crystal eyes magnified by
a relentless desert sun
i want to drink from your lips
nourish myself from
your naked body and
the way it grows for me
you fill me, surface level
only liquid, not too deep
what i need when i am too thirsty
parched because i forgot


                          i am my own fire.
 a symphony of burning branches.
roots unencumbered. 

oh, my beloved
please do not fear
for you
 are
already
dead,

they took your soul that night
defiled the creator of
every part of me that
still reflects light onto
this tepid atmosphere

the roots of the ash
our fire left behind
create the smoky
halo of your crown,
king