Brimstone

It’s easy (when you’ve died before) to see the flames.

It’s easy (when you’ve died before)
to see the flames.
But I still walk toward them
eager for the light, for the warmth.
Eager to feel your touch,
for hands that hold without gripping,
eyes that see without glaring.

Tell me again how you jumped out of the
burning building right before it exploded into stars.
Tell me we are becoming something cosmic,
something holy.

I am holding secrets both sacred and
sinister. Molding them between my teeth
to make them somehow sweet for you to swallow.

You take them like medicine and spit them
out onto the floor, each turning into scorpions and
stinging our feet as we walk.

Everything is out to get us. Every
moment is wanting to revel in our failure and
wave flags over our bodies as they roll.

But I am still convinced:
something inside us is tenacious.
Something still burns, still scrapes.

A part of you is holding onto me for dear life,
knowing that this too-bright light is not normal –
maybe painful, maybe startling,
but magnetic nonetheless.

And a part of me is still searching – hands
elbow-deep into your heart –
for a rhythm that pulls me in,
holds me easy,
and makes me sparkle like the
heaven I know we truly are.

In spite of all this goddamn brimstone
I am still wanting to be on fire with
you.

-Kristy