soft days of fire

my skin resembles the ranges. flecks of red meld with brown. the melancholy lifts and the sky returns to rotational visions. the horizons spill into places that i can't see.

my eyes are naked. basked in sun. the sand falls through my hand. buried treasures are eroded. there are no shovels in sight.

my heart is an explosion without contraction. there is no fall out. no mushroom cloud. we light fires to experiment with matches. searching the ashes for a likeness of sorts.