i. the filling heat felt like
a curse back then,
but as the bickering wind
whipped up into
the open window and
drained the warmth
right out of his hands
he mourned the loss
of the beating
sun on his sweat-slicked scabs.

ii. carelessly, it spit
in his direction, a
delicious burst licking
out of the fireplace like
a tongue and he reached
right for the flame and
caught it in his hands,
the heat stinging his
palms
but he hummed and laughed at all of the
rawness. it wasn't the first time

iii. he sunk into the chair
and watched the sun set,
waiting for the chorus of
crackles and whipping drapes
to envelope his brain. and
he fell asleep to the sound
of music,
frayed skin and all.