Touch of Fire

The second she had realized, That a touch from me could burn, She then could only theorize, What the pleasure would return... The burning smell of cinder, Laced with orchids and a rose, Making breath within her, Slowly bend her where I chose... Then gripping her in silence , With the sound of burning flames, To singe away defiance, Till we both feel much the same... While rationing desire So the furnace can sustain, The passion in the fire, So that nothing else remains... And when the touch has ended, They'll be ashes in her hair, From the climax she preteneded, Came from something in the air... Terry WWW.WhiteLionPoetry.com