Fire is the marriage of two
     illuminations, one burning without

And the other consuming
     one from within

A set of suns hazarding truth
     burning men down to the root

That’s what this poem is about

                         ♄

It’s in my heart, like a stain
     at the break, past your flame

Wailing hazardous praises
     offered up to lift us like Lazarus

Echoes of a condemned name
     preaching, creeping, speaking

Of a need to be entertained

                         ♃

There, in its shadow, struts
     what we’d buried, opened but

Closing in on us, unashamed
     to resurrect and relive its pain

Sweetest death naturally selected
     to paint circumstance with what

Devolution taught us was enough

                         ♂

Crawling red earth as if trained
     we track our breath across terrain

Unmentionable, defaming with kisses
     the shame laid like foil under tendrils

Of a prophet’s brain, spine sprayed
     onto the back lot, backlit thoughts laid

Like rawest shock, dotting eyes with wept thoughts

                         ☉

Like the death of a shot, opportunity was
     a test screening us, ambitionless

Whispers kicking to the curb our way
     a breath leaking its silence as if to say

We didn’t get it, but we’d still have to part; it’s
     the line drawn to separate us

Fate knocking at this stage door’s lips

                         ♀

Opening wide, can your mind take in
     a stiff drink of reality like a dick sent

In common time to plummet its thrusts
     complementing with abandon the direction of

Better judgment uninhibitedly burying
     its face in a sodden veil, playing

To the camera its pandering of our sentiment?

                         ☿

I didn’t think so; true romance puts
     up with no uncertain premise

It isn’t rockets, it’s not science, prohibiting
     predestined performance; it’s when

You extinguish your lighting that hurts
     our flourish, as if from above

Angels themselves can’t distinguish lust from love

                         ☾

Nothing dies but something mourns
     grief and gravity, taking turns, turn

Inward to perform, taking form, turning into
     coward menaces, mentioning to

Unmemorable audiences, a living learned
     from exploiting what our twin flames burned

Illuminating lies until our investment returns.