So much fiery passion
burning to break free
from the prison it's
being kept inside.

It's your hair,
and it's your eyes.
While I could drown,
I could also be saved.

The water scorches my skin.
I am sat on the floor of my shower for the umpteenth night in a row.
This water is too hot,
But I cannot muster the energy to turn it down;
(At least it feels like something, even pain)
I haven't looked away from the floor for ten minutes,
This patch of tile is burned into my memory.
The water is still too hot,
And I still have not turned it down.
The empty pit in my chest throbs cold.
I want to set a fire there but fire doesnt burn where there is no oxygen;
Only hell could fix this.
The water runs hotter than the blood in my veins.
I don't think I will turn it down.
Why wait for hell when I can burn here?

There's an artistic sensuality to what she does luring with the eyes and capturing with the body, each motion a painters stroke on a master piece she is a master of her craft both artist and art. She will burn you to the core and bring forth your rebirth from the ashes, she is a phoenix she is a goddess, she is perfectly imperfect

Will you - your sun's inferno burning bright,
Your radiance demanding all the sky -
Reach down a blessed fingertip, tonight?
Will hands know how to meet as you and I
Lock eyes and blind each other with our light?
Let darkness fall. Burn me, your firefly.
The gods will have the sacraments they claim.
These words, an offering, burn just the same.

And will you turn your moonlit face from me?
Will midnight mystery reclaim your smile,
As silver starlight fades to reverie
Until the sky hangs empty, mile for mile?
If I must spend my sight, myself, to see,
At least we burn with your exclusive style.
What shades of you remain are paradise -
A shame I won't bear witness to you twice.