Morality caught fire

Air perfumed with leather and smoke
The dirt packed solid under my boots
Steady as I go into this familiar grove
Confident of my control over my head
and my hips
until again...
I can faintly hear the deep baritone
riding out the guitar strings
drawing out instinct and addiction
forcing out movement through melody
until my skin is alive with...
sound, sex, submission.
I belong to no one and nothing
save rhythm...
and I'm acutely aware
of the distance closing between
the length of his reach
and the ends of the reins.
Subtle smiles comprised of
1 part distraction to 2 parts gasoline,
where I concede
again
to this familiar fuel
that reminds me how to hunt,
how to pray,
and how delicious the transition
when morality caught fire.