That evening, I found you charming: Kind/benign; but in your own quiet way, bright as the sun. (And we both burned incandescently before the night was done.) For you were moth and I was flame Primordial fire we were challenged to tame as we writhed through the ritual no one should name of touch and tease/debauch and please; drowning each other in scandalous seas of lava like lust til we fell to our knees in paroxysmal ecstasy. A puppeteer of lechery, you manipulated my body like a marionetter; a wild rutting bull filling me full; bending me to the thrill of your unexpected will in ways I can never forget; as I let you hold me/mold me, carefully overpower me, deliciously devour me like a starving man; explore me like some exotic land of fruits and flowers, honey and milk. It seemed for hours you stroked my skin as if it were silk. And we were purged and submerged in punitive heat sweeping over us in surges of unspeakable urges, turgid and sweet. (Perhaps we will accidentally meet at the Opera, politely shake hands, introduce us to our spouses, and smile the secret lovers' smile.) My sweetness remains in your mouth, burning your soul, torturing your mind, craving for more as you close your eyes to see those refined pleasures of my skin, feeling again my amorous fire within.