The Perfect Me

With 1 touch of the wick.
The spell was lifted.
Footsteps were walked on.
Then off.
Then on again.

Forget that the indigo blanket can smother the flame.
All dark waters are held at bay.
With truth to the self.
Restricted areas roped off.
The game is not a game anymore.
I denounce desire and put her in the corner.
With all her sexual innuendos on her sleeve.
Measures be made.
Fire contained for another day. . .
When there is something worth to burn about.