The impressions of the wanton woman…..

By: Bethelhem Teame

In his hands, I melted. 
He molded me and I obeyed, 
And…………a new me formed. 
I still remember how his eyes darkened with passion….
How the pure desire ebbed into dangerous intoxication 
Witnessed the iris of his eyes change a color
When his pupil dilated and got darker
The emotions getting stronger
Tiptoeing on the edge of danger
Jumped into a quagmire
I played with a fire.
I remember how he turned into a human torch
And burned me to the very touch
Mama was right, “never play with a match…..”
Even the smallest flame  would quickly catch
When it soon become a raging fire as such 
It consumes and reduces everything into an ash.
In his hands
 I changed forms
 He curved me, 
And I formed
Sculpturing me into someone strange
Half human, half-savage
The glass water my friend gave me didn’t work, 
I was tongue-tied, couldn’t talk
The cold breeze from the window didn’t cool me down
At the memory of it, I still get hot and moan
 I couldn’t finish narrating the story of my night, 
When my friends kept me on the stand…..
Do I tell them about my dance with fire?
How I waltz with the swallowing mire? 

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