Untitled/A Little Twilight Set Upon My Throat

A little twilight set upon my throat,

I watched it find its place, that setting sun

now a glowing inferno inside my belly.

I’ll bathe my eyes in a tub of ice;

I’ll sequester this smolder

as I drink mouthfuls of heat.

​

I am my own furnace; I glow in the night

without wood or bramble, managing

to keep less than a cabin warm.

In the winter I will freeze without

you there to thaw my hearth.

And I will never call for you.

​

Will I burn out elegiacally?

Would she do me any kindness

to sing me a requiem? Questions burn

at my precious center, a ravaging

cacophony of sound radiating from

my chest: I will set our forest on fire.

​

I am not name in obituary Sunday morning;

I am siren on Tuesday evening,

an interruption before the climax,

more temptation than toil yet still leaving

a sour taste behind. A little something

you’ll forget until you lick your lips again,

​

almost speaking out loud, words swallowed whole,

favor returned. And I will never call for you.

​

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Feedback:

1. https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/q4xpjp/fat_raccoon/hgctk93/?context=3

2. https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/q6dwix/genesis_of_the_empress/hgcshwb/?context=3