the misfortune of falling in love with a flame

she looks like a lit match,

all orange-haired and red-faced

and white-hot in your hands

but every moment lost to contemplation

is another centimeter closer to getting burned

she almost fools you into forever,

her warmth persuading promises from your lips

before your consciousness can catch up

and by the time it does, all that remains is

scarred flesh and a curl of black smoke

and ashes like an apology for the love that could’ve been

if she had not been born a flame,

a fleeting thing