Kissing Agni

First, swab a glass with
spirits, a sheen of fuel
ready for the kiss of
a spark; ignite and press
the rim of a glass full
of pale fire to belly
or breast or the white
shelf of a solitary
exposed shoulder.
Deprived of breath,
the flame does not burn:
There is just the tender
suckle of bright flesh
drawn into a fire god's
small round mouth.

This poem © Gabriel Gadfly. Published Aug 18, 2010
  
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