Flammable
There is in you
a schizophrenic flicker,
pucker-lipped,
ready to kiss or to blow itself out,
a hermit flame still with a ration of passion,
but dissuaded by bruised recollection.
Allow me to try, then,
to wring out your reserve of tears,
until your skin is paper,
flammable.
And let me try, if I may,
to put my arms around you,
cup my hands around your core,
and feed your anorexic fire.
Copyright © Bernard Chan | Year Posted 2019
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