Dawning Creations

Your mild approach, not so mild.
Your tender, trembling touch, so taunting, gone rampant.
Starting with my thigh, my face, your lips, my lips.
Sweeping my hair aside, leaning closer.

What are we asking for ? Where could this go ?
Kissing me, backs bumping onto muted walls, thundering shouts and whispering secrets.
Shaking, we’re kept as it all comes down on us.
The walls we thought we secured.
Our secrets screaming outside. I surrender still.

We’re a flame lit with gasoline and dry wood. We’re sucking down the smoke like that deadly last drag.

I’m trouble with you.

I guess it’s a good thing I like trouble.