Firefly

We are the remembered people.
Moments plucked from the creases of time,
As if the very daring abstraction of it
Were a fleshy mask worn only by
Elderly men with water-eaten wooden fingers.

And we danced, pirouetted between
The smoldering fibers of a reckless evening.
You and I, fireflies pinned to the sky.
And it was the very moment that your wings,
Translucent and waving fell
Tenderly upon my cheek

That I became content to lavish in the
The myriad shades of red you chose for me.
I was your experiment taking form, forming words,
Wording phrases that gave your creation what you
Supposed was blame for the flaming specks in your own eyes, and
The nature of a dusty, birth-less boy.

For when the rush came once and twice again,
I was the hand that held no water for you.

And yet always you whispered to me,
"Firefly, such a beautiful firefly. Our souls are the same my sweet"
Between waves of the anger that ate you.
And as it was sucking the marrow from your bones
I took it, made it mine and loved you with the blisters it gave me.
Still you murmur of secret lullabies in sacred woods.

Perhaps the luster of such lofty promises spit
Fog over my flame, and perhaps it is that fog
Which formed me