Particular Words in a Specific Order

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Homage to a gentle spark of light nestled beneath the flame, where I felt warmed 
by an unfamiliarity forgotten, the spark ricochets, do you…? ricochets, I’ve never, 
brief winged flight now all demotion and misdirection and stagnant pools of grey 
light, cool moonlit nothing he has become, and I air. I say It is easy to escape into 
the air when thoughts hiss out, steam in a pipe not loosened enough, despite 
warning, that he gives to me, laughing, because we would never unless we already 
had, countless times, and never without consequence. Late-night reruns flashing 
soundly over the aggregate regret I deny, I deny it, I say I ask him to deny it. Bug 
trap set, he lights the fuse sees me, eyes reducing me, squaring me down, I molt 
for him and breathe in the chirring heat off sand, mirage my dose toxic. He crowns 
me his prince with a brittle haze worn on my brow, miasmatic, long-gone words 
that mimic habits no longer, it is impersonal for one of us and has been, more than 
comfortable, automatic. Still, better air than flesh, both than one, dissatisfaction 
than regret. I say Empty is the boy who gives up his flowers to the wind, yet full in 
seeing them float in the air, away, he breathes in an audience gathered, the kind 
only sweetened summer breezes know. I retch at the taste of pollen, I say The 
bitter pulp is worth the sweetness, the sting endears itself, a bent stem that 
cries/bites, an opportunity to miracle come here and laid down and asked for limp 
approval in through the nose; a desperate thing will kill you/ask you to say its 
name, out through his mouth. 
                                                                                                                                                                             —Tracer

2021