When you told me you thought I could be extinguished with your red-rose wine kisses,

You fed my flames your flawless fuel as wine filled cedar hisses.

My burning hands around your paper throat,

Invading your castle, dismissing your moat.

I’m not the prince, I’m your dragon.

Your monster, your disease.

You’re mine to cast my plague on.

As you melted within my fiery fingers

I grasped upon your withering ashes fleeing in the wind’s sway.

Your Eau de Lavande still lingers to this day.

My flaming fondness feasts upon your defenseless forest,

And as the last leaves relinquish their lives,

They sing in crackling chorus.


And my flames will still flourish.