The 4th

The sky is on fire and I
make jokes about dragons
Your arm rests against mine
unintentionally
like your body arrived here
accidentally
I am
pretty in the smoke
Backlit against the pyres
of America
All these tiny explosions, I think
about how my body felt
under your hands
How your hands
are tucked into each other
How
I wept in your lap
that one time
and
if I had remained
a porcelain statue instead
you would be
still clamoring
to get to my bones
But you have seen the blood now
my wet cheeks and
my fear
And the exit sign above your door blinks red
to let me know
I am meant to leave quietly
lest my heart make a mess
on the carpet
I was perfect at
such distances
I hold
while dancing
I should have never
stopped dancing
And my home had never been
the curve of your body
asleep against mine.
We are liars. We are mirages.
When I leave
you will have forgotten everything
but the poems I left,
The ones you kept meaning to read
but didn’t