You
Are like a flame. And I am highly combustible household furniture.
And so you move close to me, and touch me.
And set me on fire.
Slowly,
Then all at once
You multiply and engulf me in your love, in you. All of you.
And we burn
A beautiful hot blaze, wrapped in desire and hunger
And we burn
Illuminating the room, the house, the street.
And we burn, your flames multiply and grow and we are tangled in heat and desperation.
And we ignore the: warning highly flammable sign
And dance till we’ve scorched through the floor,
Leaving burnt out embers
You consume me, all of me.
You search my heart, my soul, my body. A house, room to room
Stealing all my possessions,
All my highly flammable household furniture
And I let you.
I watch your flames dance to me and I feel your heat.
And I let you burn me. Enveloped in the pleasure of your flames I burn.
Hot. Desire. Hot.
Until you’ve burnt through it all.
Left my reflection a wobbling photo of grief.
Exhausted. No more oxygen to eat on.
Just C 0 2.
No more me and you.
And I’m just a shell. A frame.
Filled with burnt furniture
And black.
Nov 12, 2020
Nov 12, 2020 at 8:47 PM UTC
You
Are like a flame. And I am highly combustible household furniture.
And so you move close to me, and touch me.
And set me on fire.
Slowly,
Then all at once
You multiply and engulf me in your love, in you. All of you.
And we burn
A beautiful hot blaze, wrapped in desire and hunger
And we burn
Illuminating the room, the house, the street.
And we burn, your flames multiply and grow and we are tangled in heat and desperation.
And we ignore the: warning highly flammable sign
And dance till we’ve scorched through the floor,
Leaving burnt out embers
You consume me, all of me.
You search my heart, my soul, my body. A house, room to room
Stealing all my possessions,
All my highly flammable household furniture
And I let you.
I watch your flames dance to me and I feel your heat.
And I let you burn me. Enveloped in the pleasure of your flames I burn.
Hot. Desire. Hot.
Until you’ve burnt through it all.
Left my reflection a wobbling photo of grief.
Exhausted. No more oxygen to eat on.
Just C 0 2.
No more me and you.
And I’m just a shell. A frame.
Filled with burnt furniture
And black.
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