capitulation

lately, I can’t escape
the smell of burnt matches

on my hands,
my skin, my clothes,
in the air itself

clogged sinuses
olfactory sensors muddled
by decongestants

nothing more

[not the realization
    that my longing,
           pining,
             yearning

   for something,
             someone,
                   anyone,

         has finally

           burned itself

               out]