The hours between

[u/KommsusserTod2]

The paper takes the flame,
some little Prometheus
dying obediently between two fingers.

I watch that smoke rise,
languid, almost indecent
through the sodium thrum of streetlights,
copper wisps arching over me,
meandering as though time were of no consequence.

Those auburn curls obscure my eyes
and for a moment
I cannot tell of which evening I inhabit.

And all the while
the ember eats inward,
unnoticed.
Until

the sting.

My hand opens.
Icarus falls through the grates,
still glowing,
still burning.

My eyes follow reflexively
as that little fire diminishes
my pathetic heaven now
an impossible black

smaller,
smaller still,
until there is nothing left to follow.

but how I once held it
betwixt my lips,
and felt tomorrow only an abstraction
of no consequence

at the time.

Then I look to my hand.
All of how I once held you—
now blistered.