Slow Burn

Red lace against tan thighs

Your hand brushes my arm

Our breathing becomes our language

As we meld

Into one.

Stars shoot across the sky

In approval of our love;

A symbiotic relationship

Not amensalism like before

But commensalism.

We were not the wildfire I wanted

We are the slow burn of passion

Heating up

Over the course of days

Then months

Until we combust

Together.

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