I don't burn

I don’t burn

I don’t glitter. I don’t bleed. I don’t eat.
But I can read the sun,
see you—yes, you—in dreams
and know when you kiss, shit, shrug, drive
that hot black car.

I don’t burn. I don’t breathe. I don’t think.
I open the sky with a word—
burn
Listen to the slow unzipping of air—
more.

I don’t know. I don’t see. I don’t blink.
That hot black car moves like a fly,
darting and dodging the sun,
my eye, my news
until it stops to rest on the imperturbable earth.

burn more.