an honest lie

have you ever felt fire?

the wood of your soul

organic and thriving

kindling for the flame

that the spark of his skin

ignited?

not everything is moonshine

some a drenched in the fire

of whisky at their first breath

the unwatered are wilting

we cannot survive on carbonation

curdled blood and lavender palms

we forget the way their fists

brought us to God and remember

only the sweet scent of death

beneath our nostrils like

smelling salts

the jolt of cold in February

all else is warm but if you

know the way fire felt

you'll never know heat

again