About Her Fire


About her fire


I miss the heat from her fire-

How it burned unrestrained in a heart

much inflamed by her love, oh how I miss

when her touch left a mark

on my skin which forever remains

and it rushed through my veins

reaching deep in my flesh-

And how I wish I could find

in the ashes that love left behind

if not flames from the fire

then forever her spark-


“Love, like fire, goes out without fuel.”

― Mikhail Lermontov


Of fading dreams


 Of fading dreams


My desires fly away,

uncontained they flap their wings

and leave me slowly day by day,

my daily bread of love and words

to dissipate among life strings,

my passion stale,

my dreams on hold become too frail

to breathe new life.

And time again will leave behind

the love I crave,

a wish undone

above the clouds evaporates.


“When eyes have died in its gaze, know the heart had died in its blaze.”

― Anthony Liccione

Of Passion


Of Passion


Your passion, across my skin deluged

my nights alone, so close it was

under my sheets it dripped

and dripped desires, a certain way

your words would taunt and ripped

apart my meager dreams

of what if love somehow be there-

Your passion, it kept me alive

when far away your eager hands

your body touched and I deprived

with only a taste inside my mind-

Your passion fed my fiery wants

to make you mine,

to breathe you in like precious air-


“‎And yet I have had the weakness, and have still the weakness, to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire.”

― Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

Of love and flesh


Of love and flesh


This flesh that won’t conform,

this heart that won’t be tamed

and often blamed

for foolish dreams and silly notions

of what love is

when I don’t know if ever was,

a game I played

and often strayed

into a cycle of emotions.

And with the passing of a storm

I gather scraps

of leftover dreams,

re-write the schemes

and then move on-

But this flesh still craves a touch,

and this heart will never learn

to not relight a dying spark

for it will burn-


“The pain of the flesh is naught to that of the heart”

― Jacqueline Carey, Kushiel’s Chosen





Where will I touch you the first time

if I ever was to meet you?

If desires build trails, we must follow

until the fires are extinguished

or we burn down to embers-

I can almost feel you,

drunk with crimson lips of wine

numbing all my senses

if with a kiss I could swallow

your entire universe

and the universe remembers

how a flicker of light burst into fire-

And how your breasts may feel

under my trembling hands

playful nipples enticing

my mouth to satisfy my wants,

my teeth wanting to bite

and slowly drink the rising

desperation of a moment-

Then let the black lace peel

from around your waist

to expose your moonlike skin

driving me insane with desire,

my mouth creating streams

of honey flowing down

to the river between your legs.

There is where I begin

to find a placed filled with dreams

of heavens,

blissful elixir of life

in your flow I will rise

and find the fountain of youth

where my thirst will drown-

And I will take you,

until galaxies collapse into the light

you have become,

entering every space inside

in a rhythmic dance,

drunk with the feel of skin on skin

on legs spread wide

to receive everything I am,

every dream, every wish

and every want-

So tell me,

where will I touch you the first time

if I ever was to meet you?




“I want to make you weep. I want all your pleasure, Iris, all your pain, everything you are. Come for me.” And she felt herself bow with the stark white bliss of her epiphany, the shattering realization of his words and his hands and his mouth. She was gasping for breath, shaking, lost, unseeing. The center of her being pulsing with pleasure.”

― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Desire






There was heat in your touch

of caressing fingers

a touch I yearn for when no longer here

but your presence lingers

in between my sheets

in between my memories of a sweet affair

when your body gave me the relief I wanted

and you became the air

and the blood that rushed through my heated skin.

There was heat in your kisses

that made my head spin

when you strode above riding me with pleasure

and your breast became tantalizing toys

for my mouth to play an enticing game.

You became a want every single day

 and I lost myself to the love you gave

and so badly needed,

you became my heat in the coldest night

with your burning flame.


“The Moth don’t care when he sees The Flame.

He might get burned, but he’s in the game.

And once he’s in, he can’t go back, he’ll

Beat his wings ’til he burns them black…

No, The Moth don’t care when he sees The Flame. . .

The Moth don’t care if The Flame is real,

‘Cause Flame and Moth got a sweetheart deal.

And nothing fuels a good flirtation,

Like Need and Anger and Desperation…

No, The Moth don’t care if The Flame is real. . . ”

― Aimee Mann

To Burn



To Burn


Ah those crumbs you leave behind for me to feed

just leave me hungry for the whole loaf-

You have a way to tickle dreams my dearest girl

entice my mind and make me need

our coupling words to plant a seed

and maybe grow into something more-

And then I feel the lava flow across my chest

and on my tongue a crave to taste

what flavors hide between your lips,

to rush my wants with hungry haste

my hardness strong

I’ll spread apart your eager hips

to find the streams of lava flow

and burn myself down to the core-


“As if you were on fire from within.

The moon lives in the lining of your skin.”

― Pablo Neruda