Torrid

It must be over one hundred degrees in here. We are oil slicks, the floor a swallowing grill. I have coated him in us, my neck weeping once more, happy to find a twin, the still burning candle a single spurting vein. All outside sounds momentarily die – shut out by this suction cup flight I have boarded.

Every breath brought awake by the torrid humidity……his mouth is on my shoulder….surrendering…making the offering equal…..his hands now steadying my waist, gently raising me for my head to extend further onto him. I’m in his mouth, putting him inside, returning what I felt, sharing the ride.

We are inside one another, our souls whipping the flames that had kept us at unrest.