Behind The Bedroom Door

Your lips could melt steal.  Your thighs could grind stone into dust.  The desert’s sun is jealous of the air you heat as you breathe down my neck.

You’re Mount Vesuvius and I’m Pompeii.  Your dark hair is the ash that fills my skies.  Your lips the lava that covers my body, burning everything in its path.  Your eruption is my end and all I want to do is kneel in front of you and bask in the wave of destruction you cause.

Bolting the bed down won’t stop the sounds we make.
Reinforcing the walls isn’t going to reduce the damages we cause.
Closing the windows won’t muffle the moans we cry out.

In that room we are carnal.  Behind that bedroom door we are every lust-filled thought we’ve ever had.   You won’t stop until my cities are laid to waste.  Mankind cannot prevent a volcano from erupting.  There are only two choices; get out of her way or let her destroy you.

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