Old Heat

A poem about the effects of your touch

Art by Destiny Schaefer

My skin has a different color where you used to touch it
It has been healed and burnt over and over
Each time your hands made their way up my back.
Even my spine has been impaired for years.
My magnetic field lost its balance with your absence.
North was anywhere you set your eyes on.

My mouth has a smirk it never had before.
That shy, discrete place you’ve deposited kisses,
Without anyone knowing. Our own secret.
You’ve changed my expressions in tiny bits.
Just now I’ve noticed how you made an impression
Inside me.

You had the most inflammable stroking. 
I’d be in instantaneous combustion with every goodbye.
It became so cold after you left, nothing else heats me the same way,
The exact way that you did.

You had me going, moving, flowing better than ever.
The tides inside me would comply with your phases,
So upset when you hid behind the clouds and so envious
Of the Sun, closer to you than I could.
But little did he know, you had me burning, 
Inciting my most vigorous fires,
Making my skin yours to keep.

I’ve grown used to the scars you’ve left,
Starting but never ending this inflammatory process,
And it still consumes me. 
You’re a never-healing fever.

My limbs are becoming ashes, like the ones
You’d left abandoned after a cigarette.
I should’ve known better you wouldn’t linger enough
To make me a Phoenix.

You only touch what you can blow into the wind.
I’ve been a shot of nicotine, warmth amidst winter
And a full breath.
You were a whole lifetime to me but, for you,
I was just easy heat in a pack.

Light me up again.

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