Kryptonite

sinful

Orange sunsets hid in her pockets,

Storms of tomorrow lurked dormant in her eyes.

Draped in nothing but a sly grin on her cheeks,

Her lips whispered sins belied with amorous smiles.

A muse for a poet, a prose for a writer;

A perfectly composed symphony of laughter, moans and sighs.

Like a flickering flame she was.

Kindle her spark just enough,

And you’ll be pleasured by her warmth.

Provoke her fire a little too much,

And she burns you down to ash.

She was not meant to be conquered.

Or to be borrowed from the Gods of light.

One had to be brave and foolish at the same time,

To set themselves ablaze for few golden moments of her time…

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