Vincent O'Connor

After the Fire

Vincent O'Connor
After the Fire

You call me honey

alcohol turned vinegar
in your tone
as you flop on the bed

naked.

I hate that word now

hate the rankness of your body
in sleep

hate that all we are is short bursts of intimacy
surrounded by long periods

of separation

hate the charred bones that
are all that’s left
of fire that melted gold
Into skin

I have buried the bones
between the pages of old love letters

and take them out from time
to time

examining them
as if they were still
a thing
of beauty


©2013 by Vincent O’Connor. All rights reserved.
First published in Snail Mail Review.
Photo by Guido Jansen on Unsplash