like a slow fire burn

you pull me in close
you buckle my knees
i shake and i shiver just to feel you breathe
you trace my lines
stirring my soul
shoot sparks at the heart of the world and i watch it explode

you turn, turn, turn, turning me on
like a slow fire burn
i know that it's wrong
still i run, run, run... run right into you

matt nathanson with sugarland, run

I buried my hands deeper in the pocket of his sweatshirt. It fell down over my hips and thighs to nearly rest on my knees. I watched him add kindle to the fire and dip down low, crouched on his side, held up by his forearms, and blow softly into the flames. Sparks flew, and I wondered at the origin of the phrase, at the marvel of the man making fire. My whole body rested, melting into a chair at the campfire's edge, and there, too, sparks fluttered inside of me. A love that starts slow and clumsy, finds a heartbeat with passion, grows with compassion, like a slow fire burn.

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