we catch fire

a midnight wood catches fire
putting out a cigarette / too late to lie
on rolling kilometers: you have seen more than just the soles of our shoes
regrets, rips, diluting rain, and one nights for stands or simple revenge
like the one that inevitably goes west and comes back at an angle

we
catch fire
almost spontaneously, in a circle
it's too late to lie.

a morning comes

a morning
through the shutters and the bus wakes
his stomach as empty as light through the room
outlining a knife cut and no knife
no newness,
but no regards either
to what once was but was never meant to be.