Heat Death

Is it warm in here,
or is it just me?
This place is a heap,
no room in my room.
This blanket’s too much;
hot breath on my ear.
Thighs burn to the touch,
her heat to consume
my will as I sleep.
Doesn’t bother me,
I’ve no need to fear.
It’s what I asked for,
what I need most:
to bathe in your smoke.
It’s like heaven here,
this red dwarf sick joke:
flesh made whipping post.
I want to feel more,
shed boiling tears.
Her body like coal,
steam rises off skin;
ghosts of smoke appear.
They choke on the sin,
vice making them whole.
They taunt, speak sincere,
tongues burning like fire;
tell me, ‘disappear
in funeral pyre.’
I would, but I fear
her spell keeps me here.