The 4th

The sky is on fire and I 
make jokes about dragons 
Your arm rests against mine
like your body arrived here
I am
pretty in the smoke
Backlit against the pyres
of America 
All these tiny explosions, I think
about how my body felt
under your hands
How your hands
are tucked into each other 
I wept in your lap
that one time 
if I had remained 
a porcelain statue instead
you would be
still clamoring 
to get to my bones
But you have seen the blood now
my wet cheeks and
my fear 
And the exit sign above your door blinks red
to let me know 
I am meant to leave quietly 
lest my heart make a mess
on the carpet
I was perfect at 
such distances 
I hold 
while dancing 
I should have never
stopped dancing 
And my home had never been
the curve of your body
asleep against mine.
We are liars. We are mirages.
When I leave
you will have forgotten everything 
but the poems I left, 
The ones you kept meaning to read
but didn’t

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