Melt Singe Tremble Poem by Zyw Zywa

What we do in the bushes
just have a look, if you are passing by
we deny everything you think

we kindle a blazing fire
foot by foot, hand by hand
what the spinner indicates

one step on my blue pants
one hand on the yellow sand
the delay is exciting

like the first time, now the other
hand on the green grass
one leg on the red bag

until I fall over and his skin
intercepts the horny biting flies
for me, just look

I disappear in his fire
I melt, I singe, I tremble
I'm the bride again