Scorched
Without a fire in winter months, I trust
my lips, if pressed upon your cheek, could chill
the blood. But as our eyes meet and combust,
my kiss will burn a path, ignite a thrill
to scorch your skin with passion blazing long.
As suitors meet and nerve ends rage with fire,
as dreams are built on hope for love of strong
en-kindled touch and couched in hot desire;
yet, errant eyes and restless hearts erase
the joy which once proclaimed the torch aflame,
and vows arrayed in charred and shameful face
now lie reduced to ash with none to blame.
And though the lovers taste white-hot despair,
each one feels caught in tempter's evil snare.
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