The Distant Flame

The Distant Flame A paramount flame enraptures to rule, unearthing the spicy array of my senses, the reverie of spring, cautiously subdued, the syncopated beat, three steps beyond pretentious. Longing for that vision seen only in glimpses, beyond the tide of what is still becoming real, as passion burns its slow decay upon my defenses, Baby, you make me feel. I close my eyes to a thousand stars, on a velvet curtain of the night, and the braille pathways of my heart submerge discretely into your river of light. I become caught and raptured in utter delight, throwing open the soul of all that is real, while your image dominates my inner sight, Baby, you make me feel. Blowing holes through the roof of the night, touching your lips, meeting your gaze, stormy passions toss apprehension aside, restless abandon ventures beyond the haze. Violet in subjection to your silky ways, smokey, the thoughts that make time stand still, wistful and fervent this fire flames, Baby, you make me feel. As distant, sultry fires tax us, two single spokes on an ever spinning wheel, the Earth resumes spinning on its axis, but Baby, you make me feel.