A Poem of No Particular Importance
Iāve met silver and Iāve met blood
We were quite well acquainted, but
It wasnāt love.Ā
The truth is Iād take fire over sex
Fire reddens my skin just fine
And he lights my cigarettes
His smoke in my lungs is like aĀ
Kiss, and I spend the dwindling night
Delirious.
Sad, of course, that heās gone
But heās always with me as I go on
Heās at my fingertips and in my veins,
The little red spots that dull my pain.
I donāt like to bleed. But do I love to burn.Ā
Sun and stars, day, night
Headrush. Red eyes.Ā
Blush or burn? Eitherās fine.
The blush is ours but the burn-
Thatās mine.
When I was little I was freckled.
I suppose that was my first brush with fire-
No.
Perhaps I shouldnāt romanticize my lighter.Ā
















