Loren Part 3 the Flame Dances, Soft and Quivering, a Trickle of Wax Pearls and Flows Over the Skin in a Warm Breath

In this third part, a flame dances, soft and quivering, A trickle of wax beads and flows over the skin in a warm breath. It spreads, a thin liquid veil, A burning sheet that wrinkles the flesh. Then surprise, the sudden touch, When the liquid finally becomes solid. A harsh caress, a light tingling, The sensation is born, refuses to subside. Between desire and furtive abandonment, The body murmurs, strangely captive. It is a dance of extreme touch, A subtle play between being and the moment. The soft, fleeting pain caresses, Which, for the space of a breath, the body presses. And when the wax finally detaches, The memory remains, a divine pleasure. The reddened skin, witness to the past ardor, Still murmurs the sweet ecstasy traced.