Unfinished

There’s something about watching you–
The way you dance, sway, flicker against the wind
There’s something about watching your burning color
Warm, moving, playful– to stare it to marvel, to touch is to hurt.

There’s something about the way you consume yourself–
Brightly lit, you slowly melt away
And change into something different
Still you, but not quite the same.

There’s something about your presence–
Your color, your texture, your smell
That makes me feel different–
Nervous, anxious and nauseous.

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