Bittersweet

Something in me stretches and coils
A burning desire
A consuming fire
And if I am to never tire of these fumes
I must forge a path clean through the streets of my heart,
Through to a centre much more sound and sane,
To a mind much more free than the cage that is your love.
You smoulder, but trap.
You kindle, I crack.
We are such deficits of each other that any fire and all desires burn each street raw
Until I am at the core of you I am nowhere and then when I am there I am also lost.
We are such parodies of lovers that despite all that stretches and coils within me,
I am nothing but an embarrassment of you.
And yet if I were to die within a day,
I would do it scrubbing clean the ash strewn streets,
Our messed up dreams, so that when I am gone,
You are no longer just me.