They were dry tinder
Cautious of the passion on the cusp of friction
Back-stepping each possible spark
And ignition
To burn feverishly.
Their retreats only added kindle to their bodies' desire
Crying out for flaming tongues to lick
And flicker
And erupt in
A blazing inferno of utter combustion.
It was not the uncontrollable white heat they feared
But the fear of eventually running out of fuel
The backwash when nothing but
Char and ash remain
And the last embers snuffed out.
The yearning like smoke
Forever lost on the bellows of time
It was not the burning they dreaded
But being burnt.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC
They were dry tinder
Cautious of the passion on the cusp of friction
Back-stepping each possible spark
And ignition
To burn feverishly.
Their retreats only added kindle to their bodies' desire
Crying out for flaming tongues to lick
And flicker
And erupt in
A blazing inferno of utter combustion.
It was not the uncontrollable white heat they feared
But the fear of eventually running out of fuel
The backwash when nothing but
Char and ash remain
And the last embers snuffed out.
The yearning like smoke
Forever lost on the bellows of time
It was not the burning they dreaded
But being burnt.
Request permission to use this poem