leaving nothing but the disfigured, charred remains of something once beautiful

love is like an unlit match

an unsettling potential for heat

swipe, strike, let the fire catch

on the thin wooden stick, the stick so thin

it burns, eats, devours the wood

faster than the beat of a heart

but a gust of wind, a gust of wind

and that fire, held delicately

between your index and thumb

that fire is gone, gone