Where the Fire Lives

There is a hunger
that starts in the spine—
a low flame,
a silent calling
that turns to wildfire
when he looks at me like that.

My love—
his touch is not a question.
It is gravity.
It is law.
It is the thread that pulls me
back into my body
when the world forgets my name.

I want him
with every breathless part of me.
Want him
like oxygen wants flame—
not to exist beside,
but to burn through.
To become.

His skin is a scripture
I know by heart.
His mouth—
a spark
that leaves me begging
for the blaze.

And yet—
beneath the ache,
beneath the storm,
there is light.

The kind that steadies.
That roots.
That wraps around the ruin
and makes it holy.

Our hearts—
stitched like a secret
into each other’s ribs.
No matter how far I fall
into the wanting,
he is where I land.

Not just the fire.
But the home it keeps warm.