same old shit

They’re old flames
because they’re forgotten
mostly remembered as soft
butter and warm comfort
because time grew ivy and
cobwebs over the cunt-hurt
leaving faint corners of smiles
and the vague stink of sweet
vagina on the mind so
sometimes it takes dialing
these old flames these muted
pyres to remind yourself
of how fast they engulfed you
and charred it all up the last
time you tried fanning them.
Well, now you know. Again.