Erotic to a familiar touch, but not the familiar skin that meets comfort
At it's peak, passion is forest fire that scorches one's psyche and soul to a bright-ubiquitously untamed.
What is home, home is my flushed cheek buried safely against my lover's chest. Lover, your scent is not familiar- it will do.
Lover, my mind is nearly flooding into clear-stream conscienceness. Your body language does not dance the same way to native body.
One night fades into the horizon, stealing away what I can't bare to feel when the sun hits my shoulder.
These nights of flames are not the Sun I melt into.
I am detached and shade
for the Sun has another world to brighten.