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

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