Firefly
In the darkness
the cyclopean red glow
of your cigarette
is your real third eye.
You smoke
only to catch my hidden face
in the sudden matchflame.
Laughing,
you show me
the blue genitals
of the fire
pulsing
on the golden stick.
When you walk away
from me,
the light weaves you
a flaming sweater;
and sleeves, bluer
than shadows
spin from my emptying eyes.