by Abby Simone
Your hand pressed to the small of my back.
The smell of smoke clings to your skin
the heat, the heat
trails from your fingers up my spine.
Our small backyard fire
couldn’t contain the flames
Engulfed in the smoke storm of your skin,
the smoke, the heat, pulsing.
Seared from your touch we,
burned up from the inside, but we
burned out like a match.
Cooling embers
left only a patch of dry, brown grass.
Abby Michelle Simone is a poet, a vegan, a minimalist and an all-around peace-lovin’, ukulele-strummin’ hippie. Sometimes she writes, other times she lies on the ground dreaming of organic agriculture.
In/Words Magazine & Press 