when love is described like burning

burning

When I kiss you I taste smoke between my lips but do not think of burning. The crackle of flames has always been a homely thing – you invite me to warm my fingertips by your hearth.

When you make matchsticks out of my nerve endings I do not think of arson. I think of laughing, tracing sparklers bright and fizzing in the Autumn air. You write your name along my hip bones and the letters don’t fade so easily.

And when I burn for you, I do not think of water.
I think this is just like the movies.

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