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Icarus

It dances before him.
His eyes are frozen.
He is drawn closer,
Pulled in by its radiating heat.
Its golden, tanned arms reach into the sky and towards him,
And sweet words seep into the essense of his being,
Carried along the avenues of the curling smoke.
They are so close.
His skin,
Which has grown sticky with excitement,
Is graced with the burn of its tongue.
It is only once he is enveloped by it,
Grooving and moving as one,
That he notices the royal blue hue
Bubbling true at its roots.
Too late.
It’s been great
It passes him by,
Lingering just long enough for the brush of a thigh,
And scatters his ashes in the wind called seduction,
All left in the wake of her destruction.

Icarus

Hunter Valentina

Katonah, United States

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desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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