The Heart Is a Suicide Bomber

I sit on this bench in the park
And hate the birds that fly by
I hate the children on the playground
I despise the jogging housewives
And laugh at the dead rattling leaves.

My heart wants a fire that will
Turn your skin to glass
A fire that will cause you
To romanticize singed eyebrows
And write odes
To third degree burns.

My heart wants the world so crispy
Everything looks like it is part
Of the same bubble black skin.

My heart, irresponsible keeper
Of my destiny,
You have driven me off
So many cliffs there have been
So many casualties--

But your lips are so wet.
Your aim is so true.
I am helpless to resist
Your many detonations.