From "A Prayer for Owen Meany":

...she would at times gaze into the fire, although nothing she saw there ever prompted her to tend to the logs or the coals; possibly she preferred smoke to flames.

There are probably more lesbians who would call themselves pyromaniacs, but don't we all know women like this? It's not about laziness. Maybe it's about fear.

Crimson Haze

Try to dismount.
Lose your feet
Pedals flyNo guide
red ribbons tied to handlebars
flapping in the breeze.

Lungs

Sharing champagne smiles half-hashed beer bottle metaphors giggling guessing messages from asteroids I admired you from a distance(loved you because you loved him loved your mouth before I'd kissed it)you were the only woman I ever trusted to love him enough

Clenched teeth closed eyes held breath for years he's known that nothing stops a supernova not even love

She sat and smoked a cigarettecells dividing and dividingshe thought about this life she’s madecells dividing and dividingthis chess piece with which she’s chosen to playcells dividing and dividingis but a pawn in which she is just no longer confiding

We're all here now shifting in crowds to swim in the nebula breathe in the clouds though I’m guilty (it’s gluttony I hardly knew you)I’ll fill my lungs hoping to shine brighter through you

The Key Still Fits

Tonight, we are cats who sprint toward closing doors

We are lovers-past wrapping, clawing, grasping
seeking heat and making warmth
Without water stains or who-spoons-who
We find our mismatched edges worn.

Patience

A wish waits at the window

pandering impossible desire 

branches shift in moon-made shadows

dancing like a funeral pyre

Back hot against an evening fire  

smiles trick on her love's face 

but she's not yet ready to retire 

fancies truth could fast deflate 

to end! as quick as summer rain 

from trembling walls and tin roof beats 

to silence: a weaker fate

than adumbrated fantasy

If not dissolved by wine and lips
she might resist. She might resist.

Sitting By a Column

Sitting here, that’s all
cheek pressed against the marble
self-improvement sucks.
Ol’ Rail Splitter looking
past the dome/where you
used to be my home.
Wherever you are come rest your head on my lap.
Let me kiss your hair.

But no more of this;
sadness is what got us here.

Felinede

The days lapse

with your head in my lap

I'm too blessed to be

so plagued by

wish you would

My book's weak on poems to show you

I'm... smitten.

And though I'd prefer you wrapped around

to curled against me, like a kitten

I do like the way my fingers make you arch your spine and purr.

Sometimes I think I'd better fare

back-pressed

hips-tipped, ass to bare

and yet, I sought bear hugs before

They left my fingers cold.