I Light Six White Mallow Flower Musk Candles

by Laura Stamps

in the bathroom before

slipping into the tub with

him. It’s my favorite scent,

the scent of my perfume.

“There’s something you

should know,” he says and

curls his arm around me

like a kudzu vine caressing

a pine. “Just don’t bite me,”

I say, as my lips explore

his collarbone, the sweet

scent of his hair puddled

across his shoulders,

his skin, his heat. “Why

would you say that, Green

Witch?” he asks, plucking

a strawberry from a bowl

on the floor. “Because I

know what you are,” I say.

Strawberry juice trickles

from the corner of his

mouth. I clean his cheek

with my tongue. “Tell me,”

he says. Sliding down,

I rest my head on his

chest, the hot water and

bath mattress a relaxing

garden of sighs. “You’re

a vampire,” I say. “I saw

it in your aura.” Musk

and strawberries tease

my senses. The sugar

of plump fruit on his lips.

The musk of the candles,

the musk of my perfume,

the musk between my

thighs. “One taste of you

would probably kill me,”

he says, kissing the top

of my head. “Why do

I feel like I’ve entered

a foreign land?” My

fingers travel up his

chest like the winding

tendrils of a wood violet.

“Because you have,” I say.

He smiles and lifts my

hand, his tongue painting

a circle of fire on my palm.

And so we begin. The

bathroom whirls with fire

and musk. The fire of

his lips on mine, pressing,

urgent, a dancing flame.

I climb on top, open, and

sink slowly, the musk of

my petals stretching like

a white mallow flower

in bloom. We roll, and

now he’s covering me.

A tangle of arms and legs.

Bathwater splashes the

floor. I don’t care. I’m

a fire-eater, swallowing

his flame with my thighs,

draining his fire with my

mouth. An hour, two

hours. The water cools.

We don’t care. Again,

the fire of his lips on mine,

pressing, urgent, a dancing

flame. Again, I ride him

like a dragonfly sailing

a garden breeze, rising

and falling. Again and

again. This fire, our fire,

it burns until daybreak.

Ivy frames my bathroom

window, watching us

all night by candlelight.

When the first ray of

sunrise seeps through

the glass, its fire-glazed

lips kiss each verdant leaf.

Burning, the vines look

down at the tub, at what

we have done, and brand

us with a new name:



2 thoughts on “I Light Six White Mallow Flower Musk Candles

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