Flamed Letters 

Treacherous treasures is the reality of trash 
Burn my love letter 
Smoke it and flick the ashes 
Return my jacket 
Keep your pain
Matter of fact rap it up in a band of solitude that was once embraced as a vibrant paper mache 
Eat the past like a china plate of french crepes 
The earth doesn’t amount to the water in your lake 
Now you’re dry since I haven’t been in your space 
I’m not a satellite to your planet
 I’m a comet in the Milky Way 
I’m here and there now in days 
My nights are longer then the light from the flames 
The flames of the burnt letters that no longer mean what they meant when they were made 

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