And Then, The FireI want you like a match wants friction—lik..

And Then, The FireI want you like a match wants friction—like the split second before the flame licks upand consumes everything.My hands find the heat in you before the light switch clicks,before air dares to still—there is already a riot in my bloodstream,set off by the gravity of your mouthmoving toward mine like it has known mein every other life.You touch me like I’m already undone,like you read the secrets beneath my skinbefore I can whisper them,before I even think to ask.And gods, the way your fingertips hover,not quite landing, just promising—that’s where I start to lose language.That’s where I begin to begwithout saying a thing.We are not gentle.This is not soft love, not tonight.This is teeth and breath,flesh on flesh like feverand desperate need.I press you to the wall with something like reverenceand something like hungerthat’s gone far too long unmet.My mouth charts the map of your collarbone,your throat,the shiver-place where your sigh turns into a soundI will replay later,shamelessly.You say my name like it’s breaking in you,like it’s falling from the back of your throatwith the weight of desireyou didn’t mean to carry.And then your hands—fuck—the way they explore, command, invite,dare me to unravel.You hold me there, open and gasping,like you could drink from me.And maybe you do.Maybe you do.I want to make a mess of you—the kind that drips,the kind that stains sheets,the kind you find bruised onto your hipthree days laterand ache to feel again.I want to hear you lose composure,say my name like it’s sin and salvation,pull me closer until I can’t tellwhere your hunger ends and mine begins.I don’t want a slow burn.I want the whole fucking fire.I want the crash of bodies and breathlike we are trying to becomea single ruined, radiant thing.No hesitation.No scripts.Just the truth of your pulseagainst my palmas I take youagainand againuntil even the walls remember our names.Bleed for me, in moans, in sweat,in the sacred wreckage of touch.This is what worship looks likewhen the altar is the bodyand the god is want.And I will pray with every inch of you.Until there’s nothing leftbut the echoof us.