HeatMature

I'm thinking of the way
your skin feels underneath mine
soft and warm to the touch
tracing along lightly
whether it's your lips
yielding to mine
or to my fingertips
lighting your skin on fire
like a match to a candle
if one of us
were a wick
we'd explode
the moment the flame
hit the cotton.
like a moth to light
I'd be drawn to you
whispering bonfires
along your collar bones
and forest fires
into your back
until your skin
matched the sun

The End

26 comments about this poem Feed