Log

Throw another log on the fire, my love, and

come back to bed, ‘cause I need your

warmth and the steady

pulse of your blood, the soft

circulation of your breath, the

tickle of your lips against my

neck, your log slowly

combusting between my thighs

kindling my nascent flame—

just blow on me, I’m

aching to be consumed-- so

please my love

throw another log on the fire and

come back to bed.