In the centre of the room
under a roof made of straw.
The hearth – rages
in leaping song,
the flames loop and wind,
Wood and timber – consumed by the lips of hell,
An ageless tale of the gods,
Her face sheltered beneath gently fallen locks,
Lit by the fire; the colour of the flame,
Resting her cheek on the lap of love –
In the shadows of endless heart,
Tending to the threads of scarlet strings,
Twined for eternity to ancient ties,
With hands – warm and wandering,
Grasping at the throne,
Beside the fireplace darling Hestia dwells.


Fiery Lips Of Hell


Devilish sin, on the fiery lips of hell, pure angel begs, and slips between heaven and the pits of hell. Fallen from grace, cradled in iniquitous hands and the warm breathe of flames stroking her sins. 



              He strokes her lips with a fervent kiss, scent of Mexican winter and earthy cedar fondle her breathe, his lips of peppermint and Amber musk, swill her neck. Her mind overcome in fiery squall. Ecstasy swells at end of fingertips, tracing the grooves, wind and weave in whisper. Two souls flicker in fiery embrace.