In the Wreckage of Life not Lived

We have so many fires to feed. So much to burn. I’d hold your waist as every ember fell. Till all we breathe is smoke. As we choke out the old oxygen and recover in monoxide. Our muscles and blood burning and screaming. Our lungs turning inward to bury inside one another. As our composition changes. As our souls tarnish to powdered ash. A sweetheart suicide pact. A life of solid and decay. Motionless carbon breaths and the fading reminder of all the wrong turns we failed to set right. All the moments we lost alone. The things we never shared. At this point, in these ashes, everything seems so life altering. So desperately crucial. A wrong turn we could never make right and the aches that always keep us up with the moon. The pain we missed together. We breathe this monoxide in air and in heart. Burned out years ago. I’ve surely burned away. Sent the sea a deadly glare and dried out. fluidless, so futile. Breathless. So subtle that death aching behind my eyes.