Your Flames

A poem about the making of love.

My fingers whisper to your thin barriers of emerald lace

As your fingers burn lines of lust and tender flame into my skin

I feel my heart turning into an eager carnal engine with lick and motion you gift me

 

The midnight in your gaze as you carry me in your meadow raises a chorus of decadence in me that bleeds into every cell and every breath

 

We move like angry oceans, dancing the dance as natural as nature

Pouring waves of lust and fear and need into each other

 

Every moan is laced with harmonies of the volcanic,

every thrust an inelegant ballad to you

Your licentious soul

Your ebon skin

 

The final, rapturous motion of our dance comes with neither ceremony nor spectacle

It is a moment for us,

and us alone

 

For in that sweet,

decaying pocket of time

You are in my arms, and I am in your flames