Burn Slow.

The undeniably plenteous lips.
Graced, in follow by an amiably velvet touch.

A wisp of smoldering breath bounding against my cheeks.

The tender feelings of said affections in action.
A passionate craving to tango upon lands never seen myself.

I had forgotten all of the qualms plaguing me.
The very same I had clung to in a sick attempt of comfort.

The complete, terrifying risk of rejection.
A likelihood of confused disgust, left me paralyzed.

I had simply acted.
The ecstatic experience of your lips upon mine was more then I could possibly bare.
I was willing to stop with no avail, and soon I found myself removing the offending garments that cherished your lithe frame.

Inhaling your earthly scent, the hasty treats of endearment descended down, as my fingers glided up your neck, tentatively touching your swift ribbons of tress.
_____

I am the flower in a forest fire.