Lacklustre

I suffer no shortage 

of suitors,

professing their desires 

but they only give me words 

that wither in my hands 

no good 

no good

a deed is only done 

when it dies.  

when it ceases to yearn. 

The cooling of a craving. 

The end of a long anticipation. 

You can make promises, 

be gentle with my wick

but you will never make me burn

not with passive aggressive 

could've 

would've 

literary vomit 

I'll flush it 

I'll chuck it 

drowned it in the river 

it's no good 

no good 

show me 

and maybe you can have me 

maybe you can chop this wood. 

Written October 2nd 2016