the flares are bright red stars fallen to earth, they send strange prickling sensations across my skin if i look too long, i feel uncomfortable staring

it reminds me of when we pulled up to the house as a child and the red and orange flames licked the sky in a sexual way i was too young, then, to decipher

as everything we had, flared like the flares on the side of the road, i felt the same prickling sense of discomfort race along my arms and legs yet i was transfixed

now i find myself feeling the same way around open flame, a moth drifting ever closer until i am like my toys, like my firetruck, too hot to handle

the erotic nature of all consuming fire isn’t lost on me, it is the opposite, it scares me because i too willingly want to give in and let it take me

what remains of the fool that each explosion of desire hasn’t charred, left blackened, left to float away on the rain sodden winds that blow across me

maybe it was then i learned not to stare at the accident, at the fire, or when i would take coffee to the firefighters fighting fires in frigid below zero weather

too many onlookers looking to own a piece of another’s tragedy, to feel something, even if it is grateful it was not their lives billowing in great gouts

the flares are bright red stars fallen to earth, they send strange prickling sensations across my skin if i look too long, i feel uncomfortable staring