Flames and Ghosts


Erotic to a familiar touch, but not the familiar skin that meets comfort


At it's peak, passion is forest fire that scorches one's psyche and soul to a bright-ubiquitously untamed.


What is home, home is my flushed cheek buried safely against my lover's chest. Lover, your scent is not familiar- it will do.


Lover, my mind is nearly flooding into clear-stream conscienceness. Your body language does not dance the same way to native body.


One night fades into the horizon, stealing away what I can't bare to feel when the sun hits my shoulder.

These nights of flames are not the Sun I melt into.

I am detached and shade

for the Sun has another world to brighten.


This poem is about: 


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741