Your lips are embers in the dusk’s embrace,
A slow combustion, ardent and untamed—
Torched like kindling set to burn my name,
In tongues of gold across love’s hollow face.
Oh, let me be the candle at your wick,
The wax that drips in sacrificial lit,
A fleeting light that flickers, then departs—
Like a moth drawn ever to your fatal trick.
Your breath is smoke—it coils around my throat,
A phantom’s sigh that lingers, thick with want,
And every kiss is but a whispered haunt,
That leaves me ash yet stirs me like a note.
Of some forgotten hymn, a sinner’s plea,
To burn forever, bound by scorching hands,
Melting beneath the pyre of your demands,
And drown within your molten anatomy.
So scorch me, love—let fire claim its due,
For I am but a wick awaiting you.
The very air grows heavy with your searing grace,
A blistering tempest, in your perfect form divine,
As every pulse within this trembling heart of mine,
Is twisted into smoke, leaving no physical trace.
My spirit yearns to mingle with your sacred pyre,
To feel the final char of your delicious pain,
And let pure molten ruin sweetly, fully reign,
A testament to my consuming, dark desire.
And if I rise from ashes, it will purely be,
A phantom wisp eternally entwined with thee.
hello dearest Adagio I am deeply enchanted by your write 💕
Thank you, Brenda.