A pile of brush,
ready to burn,
as evening falls,
and whippoorwills call.

A single match and glowing,
hands creep in shadows,
as grins form,
in the flickering light.

Blankets on the ground,
the stars and moon overhead,
clothes in a pile,
all have been shed.

The fire's warmth on bare skin,
caresses goosebumps,
formed by a traveling tongue
and whispered hums.

Dancing naked to music,
no one can hear,
fueled by lust,
and the case of beer.

The crickets and the night hawk,
silenced by the moans,
as I worship my queen,
as she lays on her throne.

Her honey drips from her ***,
I lap it up greedily,
her sweetness invigorates me,
and readies me for what is to come.

Whipped into a frenzy,
she looks at me with desire,
my flag waves in the breeze,
as I surrender entirely.

Burned I am from her heat,
raging hotter than the fire,
arcing blue sparks,
from our desire.

I slide into her oven,
where I start to bake,
with her instruction,
I frost her cake.