Shall we indulge in the fiery?
Let's hurry up and take it slow, though, the sands of time do not take kindly to our deed.
They’ve conspired to expire with swift injustice.
We're draped in birthed clothes—sumptuous as supple.
All barriers, mental, stand banned from banning passion.
Each verse radiates—the kind of white-hot tongues—with divine purpose of caressing flames past her heart.
I, too, am never immune to her sultry recital.
"Cold" and "dreary" mocks—those of the day's misery, fused and frozen to me—exist only as sweat now.
It has no final stand.
For now, I’ve revenge over icy and stiff affliction.
The slightest whiff of her blistering wind, soon, dissolves it.
Call our harmonic oasis contradicting—the way pain and pleasure are permitted harmony.
Such contrasting compliments flutter amongst candled air.
I govern her moans echoing between palace pillars.
She soothes all the depths of muscle.
I beg to undergo a scorpion’s wrath.
Engulf each cell half-way with toxins, and absorb the other half, in your ravenous wrath, viper.
I’ll torch you with fever and exhale amber to your sharp gasp.
Rest upon my chest.
Take pride that we've boiled many with envy.
Sweat isn't the sole wet we desire in our satin cocoon, but, for the rest we yearn, not even Heat deserves to know.
For, a silky psalm barely deserves to describe her flow.
Sink me to her sultry.
Plunge me ‘til I glow.
From the Soul,
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