[I can only survive my life in two ways;
wasted by the fire of my gratification,

wasted by the fire of my longing.]

Love had just woven my

intolerable shirt of flame, this

bedazzled blouse betwixt 

an area brimming with smoke

and my own heart.



this consuming flame...

the flame that fuels itself with

my everything.



I am a sorceress at the stake.

I feel the fire sear
into my skin,

destroying the weak,
frail covering 
to my body,

disseminating to parts

I didn’t know
existed.



The torment is utterly
consuming.



Everything within me,
every ounce of strength
that remains, struggles to

shed this shirt of flame.

[This devised torment

by love Herself.]


Yet, the blazing fire

is frantic for my body.

The flames

cling to me,
fast to my skin,

like you have

...and do

...and will.


We suspire the smoke from the flames which
destroy all that surrounds us;

it becomes a part of us that

our bodies will never be able
to discern...
to notice...

to erase.