Stranger Stranger

Strangers arrive

with desire.

It is acquaintances

you should watch closely;

and the conveniences

they mistake

for love.

I would rather

remain a stranger

than become

a creature

of convenience.

I would rather

be desired

than remembered

by routine.

Desire

is a wildfire.

Routine

is what remains

after the smoke

has learned

the furniture.

You and I

could keep

gasping for air

until the fire

recognises us again,

claws through

the ash,

settles

inside our ribs,

and welds shut

the ventricles

we were foolish enough

to leave open,

mistaking

the absence of bleeding

for healing.

Because sometimes

the person you know best

is still

the stranger

you never met.

And, 

I would rather

bury the stranger

than hold on to

a corpse

wearing your name.