Feverish Incantations

A wicked tongue burns, turning flames into melted candle wax,

as you tell me to hold tight to the flames with the barest of hands

and kiss me deep like a thousand flickering candles in mass--

until nothing is left but a spell on my soul,

written in your name of only words you can find

your touch lighting my temptations, leading me into your prayer

desire speaking in tongues, where beds turn to cinder,

slowly burning lust to the floor until the thought of

heaven is no longer more at the sight of you, instead,

it centers me, flooding the smell of your skin in frosty winter casts

shadows of another firelight confession for spring in summer

as I rest at your altar

the heat between extinguishing the swelling fever

of lusted rivers as we lie and lap and lavish and languish

enveloping jewels on a barenaked canvas

at dawn I rise, and pine, and writhe for you

before dusk when the ridged mountains turn dusty blue

stars rush across the sky in amber fireflies

and we meet again in small agitated waves, at last.