Erotic PoetryHeatI see the way you burn —
hot, so hot, dialed way up.
Then just as quickly
you go so cold.
Should I be jealous of that heat?
I am, but then, I'm not.
I want it.
But not at that price.
Not for that ice.
What I have, we have,
a slow, coaxing, simmering flame —
A love reduction
The kind you lick off your fingers.
That's what satisfies me,
even if — especially if,
it leaves us
hungry.
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