Two miles below us 

a Five alarm fire,  out of control    


Her face is lit up

bright orange 

reflecting the sparks  


Stiff breeze, out of the South, tosses her hair

fans the flames 


Clouds of smoke rise from the valley

pass over us 

the aroma of scorched carpet and panic


Later she will ask if I was aroused by it all 

I'll lie and say No,   I was already there







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