Flavour of fire

I can feel your proximity without turning to look,
Your presence blazing against my skin like a fire’s heat,
Your existence flaring into harder focus as night falls,
An insidious light against even closed lids.
Don’t get me wrong, I am thankful for what you give me,
For thawing out my cold feet, to more boldly walk this world,
For lighting up my path to see the better opportunities,
But this is far from everything I want.

I want to undress and walk through the middle of your embers.
I want to completely plunge my hands into your heat,
So you turn my frozen body into molten liquid.
I want to lick your edges, to see if my senses scream
At the flame before or after I feel the taste of metal.
I want you to grab me, engulf me, blaze through me,
Until I either turn to ashes or become flame myself.

Oh, I know. I know you are fire made flesh.
I know a single touch could scorch me to my bones.
Don’t waste your breath. It’s not that I don’t hear your warnings.
And it’s not that I don’t care either.
I do care. I care enough to be entranced. To want it.
The danger only makes me want to touch, to try, to poke.
I don’t want you to slightly thaw my margins.
I want to feel the flavour of your fire in my pores.

5 thoughts on “Flavour of fire

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