Hot

She was a golden flame that night,
Red as the fire upon a hearth on a cold night.
All was still when she began to dance,
As the licking flame dances.
Slowly at first she twisted her body, as though hungry,
Just as the growing flames twist and lick outwardly
and hungrily.
Her body was a living pillar of fire
Covered with the flowering glitter of a million sparks,
Turning, twisting, tossing,
As if in agony, and yet, caressing.
From the flaming red you were changed to a
sinister green,
A flame of poison, of treachery and of lust;
A flame one might expect to find
Creeping among the forest giants
to kill them while they slept;
A poison as choking as the gas from which you spring;
And the lust call dripping from every movement of
your lithe body.
And then to the silver flame,
A flame when only the moon is high in the heavens
A sparkling, gleaming flame, reaching upward,
While silver glitterings fall at your feet;
Then suddenly to turn and play with them,
Lightly, laughingly,
Until the shining call of the moon beckons,
And you seek to answer
With all the power of your silvery form.