When a storm wakes

Warm flush crimson
Fingertips dance a pattern of
Soon, soon
Laying safe in my arms
Pressing warm lips in tentative
Give way to the push of closer need
Actinic fire crashes
Distant and still
So close
No competition for the fission of fire
Tracing its way through my veins
Last part
And the fading taste of amaretto

4 thoughts on “When a storm wakes

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