I Hate

I hate the way you smile

how it warms me from the inside

till I’m cave for the campfire

you’ve lit in my chest.

Till I forget there were days

my heart wasn’t displayed

on your mantlepiece,

and my legs weren’t sore

from running from

all the affection you threaten—

and the promise of home.

I hate

that you don’t say a word

before the spark begins.

Everything I need to know

hangs in your eyes.

I look in,

hold on for dear life.

Then you smile.

And the fire starts again.