She drank every blade of flame;
Gazed deep into his Dante eyes
Pressed soft lips to the embers
of his pain.
A taste of cool rain and soft,
evening skies. A tender sigh.
Eyes the depth of ancient groves;
Her dew-drenched touch
trailed mist across his burning skin.
©2018. I.O. Kirkwood. All rights reserved for text. Image may be subject to copyright.
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