That Night

I cannot remember that night: January, cold,
beautiful, bland? But I imagine
it was just the same: all itch and ache.
Well, maybe your eyes, fireflies
when I get it right, did not shut down
with our bodies. Perhaps that crushed green
held a steady glow beneath your eyelids
and we panted, our hearts thump thumping
back to pace. Yes, I whispered something
uncommon: Lovely River, Moon Tear, Blood
Blossom, Sweet Fire, Perfection. I love you.
No, nothing like that. Only that night,
something else: an accidental flicker
fastened. An ember, unending.

I remember that night: January, freezing
so disturbingly still. You swung the front door,
a bitter slam against the cold. So, we kissed.
My chapped lips burnt on your prickly
mustache; two lightning bugs pulsing, and then
it was over. You muttered: How was it?
Alright? Okay? I love you. I love you,
and your hand smoothed over my belly.
I cannot remember what else: if the lashes
of your eyes fell before mine, if you zapped
the T.V. on, if my dreams bled from child
to woman to mother, or if I awoke any different
............a human being.
But on that night, something else:
a lucky speck, buried and spreading.
The tiniest wildfire, ignited. Yes.
It will consume us, slowly, forever.