In medieval days, stones were used to made fire. You put friction in it. And it would make fire. Just like ours.
Only that, this isn't medieval. Like stones, we brushed each other, made friction. That created spark. And that's how our fire started.
I couldn't compare it to anyone. It's been years since I had that. But that didn't make me crazy before. Unlike yours, you make me beg for more.
It was fire that we played. And I'm afraid of fire. I don't like flames. But yours are the flames I'd like to play.
Your flame is addicting. I'm like a moth coming on its own death. I wouldn't mind dying. At least, I got near the flames.
Your eyes meet mine. My body starts to ignite. Hands starts to roam. And even when warm, I would shiver each time you touch.
And when we kiss, our body starts to burn. We weren't even in the climax. Yet you bring out all of me. Over and over again.
Flames started to explode. Bring me to the edge, filling all of me. Like fireworks, like guns, like bombs. I have exploded a million times.
After the flames come the ashes. And when it's done, leave all the rest. Dark, empty, gray ashes. Goodbye to the flames that I will not see again.
Goodbye to the hungry kisses that once fueled me. Goodbye to the touches that my body desires. Goodbye to the flames that filled me, never has left me empty. Goodbye to the fire I had played tonight.
It was ashes. Nothing will be ever used in that. It will be nothing. The wind would only blew that away.
I played with fire. Left with ashes when the flames are no longer burning. When the flames aren't wonderful anymore. Play with fire like how we played.
Then, we'll both leave the ashes behind.
(I knew I wasn't made for SPGs. Haha)
