Poetry Writing


Healthy raspberry scented flames burned
through the cathedral of his heart.
They whipped out and reverberated down
his spinal chord where she had touched him.
Her worshipping fingers were brought
to justice one by one.

With each tentative tip toe of her fingertips
down his spine, the flames grew hotter. Wilder.
Eager to eat her hands. She had selected this fate,
willing to let her fingerprints dissolve for the chance
to feel his heat. To pull him into her chest
until they both stood in cinders.

Passing from first to third degree in no time,
they stood in bewildered silence except for
their heaving breath. She would inhale,
he would exhale, curling smoke easing
back and forth in their dirty lungs.
The sin to her was worth the taste.

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