Your fire burns my nose like salt water
I try calm the flames
I can’t put your crackle out
It always finds its little spits on my skin
Burning me quick with the cold seeping in long after
We’re in a stand-off
I’m ready to walk off
Looking forward with backward tracks
Lingering hands on the trigger
Hesitant to handover
Impulse fidgets to shoot and run
-MWAM