"There are snowflakes on my tongue
I want to melt on your inner thigh."
"Kiss me where the flames turned blue."
I read her poetry and think of you.
"Kiss me where the flames turned blue." Kiss my hottest places. Warm even the coldest parts of me with your skin, your lips. Melt with me.
I wrote something for you back when we began, late August or so:
"More than anything I want to connect with you. I want to know what lights your fire. Maybe what makes you burn isn't at all close to what makes me burn. That's ok. Maybe I want to see your joy because you have a seemingly endless supply of composure. I just want an opportunity to see the real you. I don't want to see your restraint. I don't want to see that pain in your eyes, that downturn in your lips. I want to see the pure happiness and love in you that each and every soul is capable of showing forth. Forget "showing," I want to see it explode out of you."
Now I have seen you, and to see you is to love you. There is no way around it. Your happiness is stunning, and I simply cannot stop looking at you, touching you. I am still uncovering what feeds your flame, but I will do my best to keep you alight. I want you to burn like I burn...
...and burn I do. I am ablaze with your lips pressed to my lips, ignited by your ardency. My lust for you always simmers just beneath the skin, sparked merely by a knowing glance, sparked simply by the knowledge that you desire me. Where does your flame turn blue, baby? Where can I press my lips to bring you to your boiling point? I need your warmth to keep me going, beautiful.