He hit stop on everything that got too close- his edges still smoldering in the seams. If ever a person were to see within that smoke, he did not know what they’d see. For he poured himself into the basin of wretched cracks and scars–
He had loved so many women, but only for the scars. If ever a woman pursued him, by grace they would receive: a kiss of death in tender cuddles that fueled his egoistic scheme.
Smoke rises from his breath to the women that he sees. Fire never saw such beauty, and fire is what he needs. Silky smooth, rounded cusps, naked to his needs. Flowing fibers gleamed like embers and her face was his to touch. He longed to be inside her, consumed or combust.
The fire spread throughout his heart and wrapped him up in silk.
She laced him up in velvet twine and lit a match to the line.
When I found him,
Still wrapped in twine, and
smoldering ashes beneath blue eyes.
The match burnt within himself,
He started to spindle a new