I found
old correspondence
from some years ago
between my former
self and
you,
the always on the road
wielder of stringed instrument
and debaucherous exploits

Former paramour
partner in deviance
and infatuation
What a pair…
Addicted, lustful
heathens
we were
Two moths
Two flames
Destruction was
inevitable,
Of course

But still.

Bemused, I
shook my head
Reading the
To and From
Slightly aggravated
by my own desire and loathing
Your seemingly sincere
yet
apathetic apologies

“You may be crazy, but I am weak. And that’s worse. I don’t know what else to say.”

Clearly.

Our combustion
while not spontaneous
still surprises me
Yet,
After some years
the flames
have all but turned to
simmering, dying embers
in a growing
pile of ash
which along with
the charred
and disintegrating
bits
have been
flying and
flaking
away
to somewhere
not here

But I wonder.

Nowadays,
have your messages
of remorse
to Her
Become any better
Than what they
once were?

Maybe…
you should invest
in a fire extinguisher.