The smell of your clean shirt and showered skin mix with the smell of the recent cigarette you smoked.

The taste of it burns my mouth,
I cant, dont want to stop your lips against mine, moving down my skin, your hands reaching up.
Fingers laced through my hair.

The air is gone, sweat and pleasure in my lungs, our tongues intertwined.
Our bodies pressed close,
As though if we move too far apart,
We may not get the chance to feel each others skin again.

I wait for you to stop,
To realize we are but a struck match.
A flame that burns only bright enough to die.
Barely slow enough to catch.
That time has stopped progressing and eaten us alive.