baby, I was the kerosene
provoking the fire
that fed our hearts we
connected too flawlessly
spontaneous combustion together
we could burn miles of forest
for years and years to come but
I think the heat was
a little too much and
even though I know one day
the flames of our fire
will lick at our ankles again
we are but insects—
our fire will flourish
and die, just like
summer flies
So Nadine Writes 