Your presence is like drinking honey-fire. It tastes sweet and strong. It burns, scorching my mouth and throat, coating my lips. It's liquid fire and fills my veins fast. My body tingles with the warmth, and I'm sure I glow.
And when you leave, all that's left are ashes and the smell of smoke. The only reminder that I was here, that I lived, that I breathed. The remainders of me and the ruins of my body.
But if I could, I'd do it over: drink you in like the parched soil drinks in the first monsoon. Because my strength and my weakness are one and the same. I love to burn.