Lit

Have you any clue how it feels
when I see you looking at me
that way, or when you quietly approach
and I feel the slip of your fingertips
on my now combusting shoulder,
how I try to coax some air
back into my flagging lungs,
perhaps begin breathing again
sometime soon, next Thursday
or Friday, after I first recall my name.
Something will need to be done,
I know, about the blaze 
consuming my back,
but for now I shall abandon
any further attempt to think,
feel or breath, and just burn…
you had me from the first
flagrant nuzzle in the back
of that cab on Halsey street.