A Collaboration with EC (@erroneouschoices) – We spoke in flames, until silence learned our names.

They’re just notes to myself, full of small words and bone breaks. 
Fire-honey, impossible love and rusty autumn poems that lay on the damp cellar floor tend my salty heart and empty smile.
Wash my mouth out with your sultry stare and call it cardinal. 

I keep your words in the nowhere space between my heart and my soul.
They still murmur their liturgy to fire. 
I’ve never blamed the flame for the scars;
I just miss your heat. 
Now I catalogue the silence once filled by your voice;
even ruin needs ritual,
and pain always whispers for meaning.

We are paper thin and melting all over the broken things.
We looked at each other in silence, watching the world burn, contemplating art and death. 
Letters etched across my skin, raw in your presence,
wild under your tongue

I learned the language of your flame —
how devotion smells like smoke and tastes of your lips,
how every scar is just a rosette to love.
The silence doesn’t ache now; it hums,
the way embers hum when they remember being fire.