when we kiss, your mouth, it burns,
where your lips brush my skin,
smoke rises from my body like dry ice.
i am dry ice, carved
with sharp hips and
a tiny waist, small breasts and
you can count the knobs of my spine against
your ribbed chest and stomach.

-

where your skin touches mine,
smoke rises from my body like dry ice.
it burns and it smarts, and i want more.
you push me farther than i have
ever wanted before to go,
it is new and i think i am scared but
i press closer and i can feel the
scorched smell of my skin, is it enough?

-

where our breath mingles,
steam rises from our throats like dry ice
your tongue is numb from the sweltering
heat of my mouth; i bite your lip and you
feel the sharpness of my hips ground into
your thigh and you enjoy the pain.
i can hear your pulse anticipating the next
touch of your fingers to my ribs, count them out.

-

where my hair touches your shoulder it fries
and you can taste the burnt scent,
i whisper in your ear
the sound delights you, and
you are aflame with my words;
you reply with rib-counting fingers
and draw a twelve on my birdcage chest.
your fingers are hot like dry ice.

-

i can feel the feral growl; it's rising.
you shudder as i press my lips
to your throat and growl along
with my smoldering fingertips
on your chest; dry ice.
i can feel the scritch scratch of your beard,
i can tell you'd like to nuzzle your face into my shoulder,
please, i want you to burn against my dry ice flesh.

-