Flames dance at his fingertips,
little blue blossoms,
stinging thorns of heat.
How can something so beautiful
burn with such agony?
My incandescent lover,
my heart of the sun,
leaves seared skin,
in the wake of his touch,
then tenderly wreaks devastation
with that first, sure thrust.
I burn from the inside,
a reactor core gone wrong,
and all the hotter do I blaze
for lack of air and light.
What you see
is the fragile outer glaze
that once delineated
the boundaries of me.
Now
touch me
and I’ll shatter.
Very Nice..I wish all the “heat’ in these words could heal the singed heart within me.
I conquer on.
Superb. ‘and all the hotter do I blaze
for lack of air and light.’ That there is a top line, amongst more top lines. Even communicated the intensity of the physical to an iceburg such as I.