Butane And Kerosene Poem by Ben Partenay

you said 'be careful with words' and
I wanted to be careful, in the way
someone is careful with
kerosene. I carried matches in my
pocket, butane in the brain. my
heart was made of flint and I
carried you with me.

I sat on concrete stoops and shivered,
(you were a shiver) . I rubbed my hands
together fast, for heat, and pictured
you as words and felt you like fire.
when we burn, we burn (you
were also fire) .

heat is life, and frantic sparks
will always steal my eye
and once
in a forest I sat
with a box of matches
and wondered what damage
I could do with a
flick of the wrist. 'danger
is magic, babe'

but I loved the forest,
the trees wild
with growth and green with a
different kind of fire. and I
loved you like kerosene
and poured you out into
the dust and pine needles
until only the smell of you
remained.

(but be careful dear,
if you are alone
and in the woods looking for
heat. the ground is
gasoline and
it may burn, everything
might burn)