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  I was already there

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