- Non-Erotic Poetry
- My Fire
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I was parchment, a story as yet unwritten. Edges frayed with neglect. Odd scribbles better left forgotten.
She, fire and passion. Embers burning low, covered in the ashes of rejection and hurt.
Drawing near her heat, feeding her with pages from my soul, we become a blaze. She sears words onto my story, burning away rough edges. The flames of passion glow bright.
She is My Fire, and I will tend her.
An ember splits off. A tiny flame to be tended and nourished.
Her flame burns low, heat in constant demand. The ember grows, taking the oxygen she needs to breathe. The ink on my pages distract. Her need for fuel forgotten.
She struggles to burn, reaching out with tendrils of smoke. Yearning for passion, to touch the sky with her sparks.
A stray flare catches my eye. It burns me when I probe it. Jealousy. Regret. Anger… Love.
Fanning the spark, my pages begin to burn anew. Her flames consume and inspire.
She is My Fire, and I will tend her.
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