Thursday, October 14, 2010

Callistus I

our house burned from the

ground up. the neighbors

crowded to their windows

to watch. their greasy cheeks

left smudges on the glass.

if only they knew it was

only the leaves. the fruit cellar

full of oranges. the porch

covered in pumpkins. the trees

so red against the storm.

we were finally warm,

content with how we were

always biting our lips ‘till

they bled, ‘till they were

bright enough to burst

into flame.

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