Insects

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

Rust

gypsy blood burns hot
embers left in an abandoned fire
that warm nothing

we must keep moving, karma
licks at our ankles
you must look out for yourself

do not return home.
for even the jackdaws
will steal your gold