Conflagration

You ask me for a lover,

burned, charred and ransacked

upon my grave,

leaning back against 

the tombstone,

cigarette crushed between your lips

as I watch you smile

in the grimace of a flame

and I know
how badly I need to feel
your burning mouth against mine.
Because with every slight stretch

and unadorned movement of your body

I can feel the ashes piling higher

around me

in the clichéd form of desire

until I’m surrounded

by the fires of my own making,

heart slicing through the embers

as they claw and softly singe

my skin rubbed raw

from the blazing pressure

of loving

you.