Toko Week
Burned
I always thought that dirt and rocks and earth put out fires. Earth couldn't catch—earth couldn't burn.
But I was wrong.
Every touch from him sets me on fire. It's like I'm made of gasoline—the contact flares, and there's no stopping it.
When he touches my cheek, the blazes rake my soft skin.
When he caresses my hair, the black locks singe.
His hugs torch me all over.
He breathes fire in my ear when he whispers my name.
When he tells me "I love you" my heart explodes in fire that consumes me from the inside out.
And then, when his torching touch caresses me, as his lava lips kiss mine, I know.
I'm happy to burn.