Thursday, December 19, 2013

Burning

Too hot to touch. 
She was (is) the spark. 
The blinding flash. 
The binding flesh. 
An equinox of solar pleasure. 
In another life 
The fire bloomed from her head as summer winds blew her hair like the wide stretched, arching wings of a pheonix. 

She was (is) the kind of fire you want to touch. 

No comments:

Post a Comment