Alternate Heats (for Christina)
And so I’m left alone
wondering: what if
I’d tried to love you
rather than the warmth
of your best friend?
Would we have fireworked
just as vaingloriously,
pan-flash spark spewing
color just as quickly
as we could shed our clothes?
Or would we have bubbled
like sugar microwaved and molten,
forced into a form
we were never meant to be
shaped of or by –
the crust of our former love
crumbling everywhere in its hardness?
Or would we have brewed
like tea leaves steeped in the boil,
finally unfurling our dried tongues
preserved months ago
for someone else’s tastes,
releasing the flowers
we’d kept clenching
for no other reason
than constant reservation?
Perhaps the kettle is still,
waiting to whistle.
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