I never expect your arrival.
There is no chariot of gold
or sounds of trumpets,
no rush of flames or horses.
You sear right into my path
burning holes where you spread,
treading through this life of mine.
I cry because you glow
drawing lightning with your eyes,
your bow, and yet you reek
and are drenched with pain.
Astounded, I wait for you,
your shimmering form of flickering fire
seduction oozing from your pores
air bending at your heat.
I won’t give in, not again
the maiden I am, was, should be.
You stole what was mine, yet
how was I to know not to play with fire?
A god you must feel strong,
but I know where your heart roars
encased in that steel ice
for all to see, but never touch.