Burning

I have burned
for you
and would burn still.
Bonfires, flames licking
tall, like the run of my tongue
up your ribs.
Pyres, I would light with the heat of my skin
against yours; embers
from our lips kindle watch fires
to ward the evening.
Fingers trace lava runs
following sweat beads over spine.
High towers burn like rivers
running up, spit and crackle
and collapse in a shower of sparks,
flames easing to well-banked
coals and dimming to night,
the only heat our salt-slick
skins, the sigh and pant
of our breath, misted
like smoke
against the darkening sky.