BY francesca


Casual sparks are

Cruel starts in

Deep blue chlorine pools

Put out just as your hands have learned to

Crave the scorching jewels


In solfege, you spelled out

The name whose lips yours sought to sweep

Toast sparkling Saturn spirits

To sparks on the second week


But startling sharps turned foolhard flats

These hands those hands barely held back

And “pretty” was a word they lacked

For any but their flares

They looked: Not half as many times -

Answered: One word for twenty rhymes -

And still, their voice crashed in your chest like...

Ember drums.

Blazing toms.


And so you liked it

Fantasized it

Lied that it might last…

You’d tame the jumping fireworks

Like your name would be the path


But when it came to black and white

The color leeched and singed your eyes
They left unscathed, their skin ablaze

Tattooed on you, burned blind

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