You were like the scent of fire in August
Half faraway and sweet in my lungs.
I could imagine the sparks

and the tinder and the leaves with all their

convoluted implications, just like stargazing
alone but for us two at night,
cool dew gathering on our skin


This is not a love poem I swear
It is a call of memory
to the smoke your clothes breathed in

that one night

and how I tasted it on your lips and
I was so happy I almost

miss it


You were dangerous to me (you still are)
But you weren't wildfire in the woods or prairie
You are a quiet candle-flame on summer nights
gently flickering,

illuminated the room.