Fire Touch

The fire burns long and hard

For what she cannot touch

Floating through the ever night

Longs to be the devil’s crutch

Or a handmaid to his rebel soul

Her flame the image of his old lust

Picture of the darkest night

Icon of the devil’s bust

She the devil carnate

The flesh she cannot hold

Despair thy name is fire

Passion a flame now cold

Born to die on your pyre

Unrequited but bold

Your embers do not tire

Your story dead but told

Published by Michael Sean Erickson

I write, act, and produce films in Los Angeles. Everything else is conjecture.

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