And she is too much

She breathed him in
Much like a dragon would exhale flames
But she inhaled, consuming
She knew, he knew
As all about the ground would still scorch

Lazily, calmly, was never in her vocabulary
Her bed was red with the fire of consumption
Her breakfast table was mounted centrally with heat
From table to mouth with one smooth movement

Though the cold fruit juices would elongate to the table, lazily
From her half open mouth of desire
A contradiction of thought and action
Her tongue sweet, the table now sweet
But her mind carnivorously raw

And he would be, until...
The breath consumed, wholly
Where the holiness of God chooses to be absent
She's young you know
She has time, so she thinks

Heaven is wasted on the young, so she lives...
Not marginally spiritual
But as an all too much diva of the flesh
And he's momentarily there, the morning after