She Is Fire”

She does not walk—she consumes.

A whisper of heat on the wind,

A crimson breath in the bones of night.

She is not born—she erupts.

A spark struck in the ribcage of the world.

She is fire.

She kisses gently, then bites deep.

The curl of warmth beside a lover’s cheek,

Or the howl of ruin as timber screams.

She wears no face but wears all desire—

Longing, rage, creation, undoing.

She is the candle and the pyre.

She is the hearth and the hell.

Flames are her fingers—

Quick, curious, cruel.

They dance with what you love

And ask no forgiveness.

She teaches in ash.

She teaches in light.

She teaches that every beautiful thing

Carries the seed of its own destruction.

Yet still, we reach.

We cup her in palms,

Name her comfort,

Name her soul,

Even as she smolders through our names.

She is fire.

And she does not care

If you burn.