Like hot oil splashing
from the pan,
our passion sears and stings.
Your caress, a flame
I dance around,
afraid to be consumed.
Have you tasted love
that scorches the tongue?
I savor its bitter heat.
My embrace is molten,
my kisses brand.
I leave marks where I linger.
What I can't say in whispers,
I etch into the skin.
My silence is deafening.
These hands of mine,
rough and calloused,
were not made for tenderness.
When I reach for you,
embers ignite.
The aftermath is ash.
If you see me coming,
shield yourself.
Some fires aren't worth the warmth.
.........
_Ravi D
About the Creator
Ravi D
I'm just a down to earth person who likes to write about events and things, usually inspired by people in my life.
A Failed Artist, A Disillusioned Poet, An Underpaid Game Show Host
I took my son and niece to Gori, a small town in Georgia where Joseph Stalin was born. They talked me into visiting the Stalin's Museum, the largest in the post-Soviet space. I had resisted going there because I just can't stand the monster and know enough about him, or so I thought.
By Lana V Lynx6 days ago in FYI
Comments (2)
So fantastic
Nice performance.