Fire
Keeps you warm in cold nights. You can read your favorite treasury of love poems ("I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach...") and smile to the dancing yellow covering you closely with its comforting warmth. You can lay yourself on the rug looking at your shadow on the ceiling; at the way it moves playfully joking with the tune of Puck's flickering melodies. You can throw a glance outside the window, watching and eavesdropping the rain making love to the damp earth while sipping your second cup of hot china tea.
Fire
burns you in the flame of passion. Its kisses tingle every nooks and crannies of your hand-crafted body. It introduces you to the world of blazing skies, where every hue glows radiantly together with clouds and stars; pacing with great speed, jumping, frolicking with your willful desire. It blasts you off so high so that you burst out to tears exulting the glory of your love.
Fire
annihilates you into a heap of cold cinder. Grace is something it's not familiar with. It won't stop ravaging until it has gotten your roots and seed in its inflaming cussedness..., until it is sure that you're entirely nullified, scourged, plundered; into just a heap of cold cinder.
Speaking of fire.
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