Night Sweat

We light our fire as the sun goes down,
burning there in the belly of our den.
It swells like an ache between our hips,
brings us to our knees,
begs that we do anything
to free this building heat.
But there's little we can do
before it melts us from within.
So we strike the match with open palms,
brand them into blushing ass,
deepening that scarlet glow
with every loving lash.
Nipping teeth and raking nails
like coals across our backs.
We have to let our fires roll
till both are spent as ash.
After all is said and done
we loathe the sweltering air,
but love feeling up
a handful of cheek
as fiery as the sunrise.