The acidic stench of sulfur from the other room
Was our first clue.

You and I, paused over expensive wine with our silhouettes
Shaped by lamps - they cost us more than they could be worth.
We ran out, just in time
To see it go down.

Twin thoughts of the smoke skulking through our rooms
Hunting for memories and devouring them.
Grey blood dribbling down its chin and tasting our past on its tongue
Ashy residue sticking to the roof of its mouth.

Neon orange blazes bury our bedroom-
Here in this crib, where we laid our first daughter.
And tendrils of electric light (let them, let them, I moaned into your collar)

They will take over that autumn chair
No life, no love was meant for there.

We can let this kitchen die, you know
With its perfect linoleum countertops
And stainless steel machinery
That showed more passion in reflection than ever was in your hands.

(I wondered if the blender, the fridge, could all go up that night)

In the movies they’d have to hold me back
As I screamed for past possessions and rescuing my wedding dress

In the movies I could turn to you
And we could Start. All. Over.
Like trees cleared after the blitzkrieg.

(You’d run your hands across my face - at least we have our skins and our wicked bones)

But this is not the movies.
And I watched with you inches away
No sweat deigning to cling to my skin.
And I saw the last furious licks of flame cascading from the ceiling
Absorbing mementos in an untender storm.

Stripped bare of all goods, of all items:
We have only us
And the charred, brutal remnants of our home .