Coughing sparks, your face a barbeque.
Igniting the room with little pieces of burning you.
Laughing embers out, your tongue aflame.
You play scorching humour like a pyromaniac´s game.
Those little veins on your soft neck pumping gas into your throat and out through your airways.
Your voice incinerates our ears and parches our hair.
Those everburning logs you call teeth, white heat.
With each ball of fire you use to greet us.
Little explosions pass out of your furnace lips.
Tell me is it also that hot between your gracious hips.
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