Lit Up

He is six feet of fire
rising from my roof
match-lit, sizzling,
snapping

making me laugh
on Sunday and bawl
(or brawl) on Monday.
I wipe the snot
on my sleeve, breathe

and climb out the window
cause the roof is on fire,
and I am the water, but
I still let him burn.

It's this gnawing
for-give-ness
that bites at my butt.

It's a sit-on-a-candle kind of
get-your-ass-up kind of
don't-blaze-holes-in-my-dress
oh-well, fuckit
kind of love.

another wonderful phrase from Easystreet: gnawing forgiveness