Playing With Fire
Seldom is the story the same.
Meandered here, but not by chance,
Spectators drawn as moth to flame,
Drink in the rhythmic dance.
Clad in yellow to mesmerize
Those psychedelic nerves.
They keep a distance, fantasize,
While ogling sweet curves.
Gentle sway with the wispy wind
And burning deep inside.
Those gathered round might have been skinned,
Had not they kept aside.
For touching here could make them warm,
But burn them just the same.
This flame brings danger like a storm,
She’s fire, they’ll never tame.
- Fire and Ice (sapphicpoets.wordpress.com)