How Did the Fire Start?

Uninspired Writers Network Prompt #3

I thought I was impressed when I learned to put a candle out with my fingers. But he knew how to do it, too, and he didn’t even need to put his fingers between his lips. Perfectly smooth and barely pink, the tips of his digits were not calloused or burned, but they collected the ashes and smelled vaguely of cheap cigars. It always seemed to catch my attention when he absentmindedly played with lighters in the grocery store, but I never thought he could make more than scraps of paper burn.

My skin burns wherever he grazes it. My face burns bright red under his gaze. My hand burns as he holds it between his fiery fingers. His eyes burn, too, through the icy blue of his irises. Fueled by oxygen and hearts of flame, our bodies burn together, radiating heat, under the confines of our bedsheets.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Those fires. Can be dangerous. One touch and a need we cannot forget. I liked the story. You said a lot in the short story. Your description create good vision and place. Thank you for sharing the excellent story. Very good use of words.
Coyote