An idea sparking on
Through the hazy
Wavering fog of
Doubt, guilt, darkness
The light, so warm
It consumes me
I am fuel for something
Greater, better
A chemical burning
Phosphorescent
Within the safety
Of his grip
My wicked lust
Fanned by his breath
As he protects the
Flame
With both hands
It is irony
The most simple form
Of God’s humor
That I should be
Held delicately within
His security
Feeling a pleasure
Incomparable
To the dark
Wilderness
I’d stolen away to
Before
He rescued me
But now, watched
Carefully
And protected by
Our bubble
I am free to burn
As his will closes
Around me
Tightly
Healing me
Right down
To my
Scars