He's fire. He has to be. When he hugs me his warmth burns my body. He ignites me. No one else can make me so warm. Not the way that he can. When he looks at me with those bright blue eyes I love I see sparks and flames that show such an excitement and curiosity. When he speaks and crackles I can hear a passion burning inside him. Those strong, tan arms of his are matches. He could strike me if he wanted to, but I know he would never want to. He would never want to hurt me. Instead he uses them to hold me and protect me. Fire always protects me. He always smells faintly of smoke or something like it. Its not a choking kind of aroma; its more of a familiar campfire. When he kisses me I melt. I'm being incinerated, and I love it. I melt into a charcoal and ash. I can't breath. He can't help it. All of that oxygen he has used suffocates me. I'm drowning in flames and being burned alive. Its merely a kiss, but it has so much power behind it. One of these days, fire will scar me. He can't help it. As an element its simply his way. The scar will heal after time, but one of his sparks will always stay with me. In the mean time I'll enjoy it. I'll enjoy being set on fire.
September 26, 2012