he wrote love and handed it to me
smiling, proud of himself,
this little man-child, all grown
up and using such profound words
such as love nevermind its meaning;
that he used it is enough.
or so he thinks.
until i struck that first match
and let a flame slip beneath the
paper first igniting the edges
and then, allofsudden exploding
into a flame that set the room to
light and a flicker of alarm to
his eyes. "love." i said.
then handed him the ashes
"and these my dear, are what come
after."

12/19/2002

Author's Note: (i'm ready to be burnt up alive... are ya with me?)

Posted on 12/20/2002
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