what began
wasn't wildfire,
just a spark
in the hush of breath,
the kind of heat
that curls into your spine,
then lingers
long after the room cools.
your jacket,
still on the chair,
something too heavy
to carry twice.
the TV flickered to some disco
from before either of us were born,
we moved as if the beat
was ours to own.
under streetlights,
two beers and a pack down,
my hand in yours
like it meant nothing
but let go
like it almost did.
there was a version
of us
that never made it
past the smoke.
i tried to forget the summer
you left
without turning.
still, it tasted
like it was
mine
to keep.
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