in september, when you meet her
it is not the proximity of your bodies that will determine your closeness
it is how much of yourself you are willing
to light on fire.
when she rests the soft animal of her lips against the nape of your neck
say that you are ready for arson.
when she says the unprecedented word ‘love’,
it will be an army of skeletons and teeth snapping to the floor
it will reverberate the windows on their frames
it will be the rusted ember of your heartbreak ending,
she will know that you have changed chapters in the story for her
you, with all of the minute details, and the obsessive calculating-
knock it off
learn to not to plan anything,
fall in love with her more every goddamn day
don’t be surprised that it is possible to do so
and if she asks,
light the whole fucking book on fire.
