Love Match
You strike me.
Make my head crack in two,
start the sparks that reflect in my eyes—
and I am engulfed by fire.
This is a love match.
I am not a lighter,
easily turned on and off with a simple click.
I am not a campfire,
slow to catch, slow to die.
Move me fast—keep a good thing going—
or watch me burn out in seconds.
This is your chance, so ignite me while you can.
Waiting is never something I’ve been good at.
You strike me.
My mind goes black,
the sparks long gone,
and I am losing the fire.
This is a love match.
Not a rock,
fracturing myself for a chance.
Not sunlight,
precise about the parts of you I want.
Give me more and watch this grow, grow, grow—
or let me die out. It’s fine.
This is your chance to play with fire,
caution to the wind—you’re no longer a child.
Or maybe there’s a part of you
that wants to see everything burn and fall apart.
To see a dreaming match wanting to be more,
instead curl, blacken, and howl with pain—
so much so you’d burn yourself just to watch me suffer longer.
But listen carefully to the sound of my crackling, cackling,
Cuz I know you’re not walking away unscathed.
Cuz I know you want to do this again.