Down the stairs, to the left. Creeeak... Step... Step...
His door closed, I creep up... Click!... Creeak... Unlocked;

Closed door, lights dim, dark red with lust;
Hours late, he plays me such as he does his violin.
Bodies tight, musk, and my perfume.
Start off slow, savor the taste, his mouth on mine, non to waste.

Sweat and kisses, bites my neck; Slides in, and plays his deck.

The connotation—the impulse.
The urge, and the strike.
A candle, a lighter—
the flame that ignites.

Sitting on the floor, in my room that night;
pen on paper, those words in my head.
Then the flame burned the papers—a fire so red.