The crisp, crackling, whip of the flame, our love has often been the same.
With violent thrusts and jaunts even now, it still haunts.
The ferocity in which we love, to me was as beautiful as a dove.
I know you fear the fire, yet, may it still inspire.
The hunger for your flesh, the melting touch of your hand. I have never been able to withstand.
I am addicted to your flame because it keeps me sane, without the pain I feel lame.
This is not a rhyme its almost like a crime, to express myself.
I know deep down, maybe not even that far…you still often open, that very loving scar.
You tell yourself its not enjoyable, that it hurts and is destroyable…but you can’t put out the flame….because you, you feel the same.
You spent all your time fighting, to prevent to provoke to incite yet you don’t want to fight?
The irony of your entirety, your in love with me so, yet your forever saying no no no.
If you let your flame burn free, you know you will see that we…..
Have always meant to be….
I miss the fire, I miss the flame….I miss all of you, its really not the same…please come home.
I don’t want to fight because I know that we are right….I love you,