The soft floral lights gathered above her bed pulse slowly like a fire,
The eyes are drawn to their complexity,
The beauty of their light, the flicker in their pace,
And many lovers describe their love in this tasteful way,
As if a fire can compare to the heat she feels,
There's no degree on the Fahrenheit scale that can truthfully count a number,
To describe the heat he inflicts in her,
The heat he inflicts on top of me,
Light like a sheet but full like a blanket he covers my heart,
With a wet and warm substance you might call love,
Or many call desire,
Either way this heat is a hot, wet, dripping fire.
And yet there's not a single flame.