Fire


I take a match
And drag it across the striker,
It sparks, ignites,
Burning sapphire
Dancing on the tip of the match to a silent melody;
Beauty, I hold with the tip of my finger,
Hips motion like waves,
Heat kissing my cheek
As it presses against it.
A lovely ora of bright orange circles
Releasing a fascinating glow.
Life at the tip of the match,
Breathing, dancing.
With one spark,
Beauty is born.

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