the smell of burning.

the flame, it leaps
he holds it to my chest
too close, presses firm
as the flame starts to dance

my skin, the slate
it scrapes
through layers of smouldered
me, from pink to dead
to blackest black,
rotten ebony

it peels away
he pushes deeper
through tissue and sinew
to muscle and back

throbbing organs
shudder and moan
the glistening white
of perfect bone
shines through

that orange glow of the flame
lights up the cave
as he plunges in rage
deeper he goes

frayed edges of flesh
they stretch and twist
round his circling wrists
his teeth grind
with pleasure, satisfaction

bloodied and grand
are his human hands
the dancing flame
it gently pirouettes
in the hole in my chest.