Nothing like the burn of lights swaying
across stick-thin body, muscles wrapped tight,
a flower waiting to bloom, petals held like fingers
gripping, reaching constantly to consume
you used to be the light of all his eyes, shimmering
but never enough — couldn’t jump as high as desired
couldn’t become the swan skating across laketop glass;
she was the one who captured him. You snuck a glimpse
as he positioned her perfect body in pose, hands lingered
across the spaces you only dreamed for, yearning with
a deep burn, flames alight inside, this burning jealousy
like boiling lava steaming through veins, an itch you
cannot scratch, lack satisfaction — you’re left on the
sidelines to watch as she, in flowing chemise, takes
whatever she pleases with an ease you will never possess.
Feet tiptoe across the floor, carry her like flight
as a ballerina you would never compare to her grace
natural and becoming, surrounded by light while you
worship the darkness blossoming inside
as the petals unfurl, you are a dark black rose
dripping ink; you will never be red as blood but only
burnt and charred inside, your heart ends flame
becomes ash scraped from floors swept by
those who come to clean vacant halls

© Tianna G. Hansen

Tianna G. Hansen has been writing her whole life and recently founded her own lit mag/small press Rhythm & Bones. She is married and lives with her cat Stella. When she isn’t editing or writing, she likes setting things on fire (within reason). Find more burning work at CreativeTianna.com or check out R&B at RhythmNBone.com . Twitter: @Tiannag92 or @RhythmBonesLit.