A dance with fire

A short story about a fire.

It begins with a spark. One sole action that seems so infinitesimal. The smallest hint of destruction lies within the life of a spark, a spark that could, one day, be a pillar of flame as tall as the mountains. The spark, the driving force behind the rage of flames, burning so ferociously in the woods, consuming all that it embraces with its passionate licks. So much passion caught up in there, and rage. The danse du ventre of natures lust, and its destroyer; the flames lock with your eyes, tempting curiosity like the hips of a dancer. The burning woods' aroma is that of her perfume, rich with the smell of seduction and prurience, luring in her prey. The alluring flames of her body bewitch the eyes, consuming your mind with her wondrous lust, locking your eyes on her as she dances slowly, moving closer and closer with each moment that passes. Now she has you, besotted with carnality, she consumes you in her passion and ire. The rage and desire of that which can only be experienced, and not told of. Her intensity ravishes your body, consuming all until you are one with her. Your last burning desire.