She Seduced the Child in Me

We caught every glaring spark
chased from the scorching embers
of our last campfire.
Lit like two mugs of vodka
drenched in flames;
she, finely aged, burned
faster than I could drink. Closer
than a friendly touch, she wrapped her motherly arms
around the skinny in my shoulders and whispered
questions about what life meant
in the light of my blue eyes—
my eyes were so blue, her next baby
was going to have my eyes, because blue eyes
look beautiful on black babies. I agreed
all night to everything she said and touched:
the tips of my hair, edge of my ear, open spaces
between my chin and legs. I heard the word love
slide down the back of my head, dreaming
about her slightly wrinkled smile
the way her jeans fit perfectly
around her waist, the loops around my fingers.
While I imagined this burning
translucent idea of us,
the fire fell into a pile of red
as smoke twisted through her hair
blowing our airy future like ashes
into a squinting dawn.
Quickly fading,
she rose
and began a dance between the fire and my eyes;
the sun
slowly rising behind the trees,
she danced
into the light, the blue, the smoke flavored taste
shifting side-to-side over my bare tongue.
Then, gently taking my hand
she placed it within her soft, deep patterned palms,
and we walked into her house,
carefully stepping out of the night.