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When you lit that cigarette

The bones of me shuddered,

The blood in me halted.

What I wouldn’t do for you to light my flame with your lips....


Because I’ve had men tell me that my lipstick tastes of petrol,

That my mouth lights fires,

That my tongue causes explosions

And of course, that opening my legs is the best way to put a fire out.


But this fire begins at your pupils,

Your eyes are like matches

And I know that, all of us? We are really always burning.


And I’d like to wash my hands in the candles of your stare,

In the sparks of your words

Because it’s stopped hurting.

It’s stopped hurting!


And I want to feel you burn me,

These scars are yours.

What I wouldn’t do for you to light my flame with your lips.....


◄ The stranger on her neck

Those Paintbrush Women ►


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Alexandra Parapadakis

Tue 22nd Mar 2016 14:59

Thanks all! :)

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Mon 29th Feb 2016 20:09

Evocative and classy. The ending is excellent.

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Mon 29th Feb 2016 18:09


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Graham Sherwood

Sun 28th Feb 2016 22:38

A popular misconception on WOL is that much of the work is autobiographical. I'm not going to assume so.

Verse two is of course the strongest. However, the choice of "one's legs" instead of "my legs" I feel is out of place.

In verse three I would exchange matches (too weak) for torches.

Alexandra, you have really ramped up the ante with this piece.

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