Erogenous & Emotional Verses

31 - Burning

Her hands,
placed on my head,
put me to sleep
in mere seconds.
Letters and exhales
of large, gasping breaths
made up her name,
first and last.
Her hair fell like a city,
maybe something historic
and more like a fiction.
I wouldn't call it to
the images
of Troy or Greece,
but, instead, she looked so English,
despite a fetish
for growing into an Italian.
I tell her secrets
and things
in little letters
that I never send her,
and she'll always be
an imaginary friend
in the back of my head,
'cause that's where everything
stays as beautiful
as it can be.
Like a lit candle,
I hope she never stops burning.