Just outside of arm’s reach
so you can know you’re safe.
I don’t yet realize
what I will do for you.
What I will become.
You touch your lips
the way I touched mine
when I realized
what I’d done.
You can still taste smoke
against your mouth.
I can still taste
you.
About Catastrophe Jones
Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
