She warms her hand
At the small center of her fire,
Fingers stirring flames,
Lips in a kiss no one will feel,
Heat rising from her touch,
Up through belly and breast,
Breath coming faster with
Each wave of hand and flame,
Buds hardened with the heat,
About to burst until she
Herself quenches her own flames,
Calling to whatever god she knows,
In gratitude for the storm
She created and was allowed to ride.
Donovan Baldwin
