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Description
i dreamed my bones were made of fire
sharp little flames seeping up my skin
consuming the last little of fabric
ablaze with curiosity and hunger.

i dreamed in ink and skin; of
a needle in my arm pulled straight
from yours. the tourniquet held too
tight, so blue, so blue, so blue.

i dreamed of the little orange lighter
sitting in my pocket. about the gasoline
a summer soul taught me to set
ablaze in a trauma inducing gaze
with a whisper.

there's still ink on my arm
from a sharpied smudge drawn
from a boring rehearsal of language
long past. "there will be a day", it says,
"there will be a day".