My desire building, as I wait
For the knock at the door
To announce your arrival
The wick is already lit
Red wax melts
Flowing down the candle's slender body
You are not here yet
To spill this liquid
Over my tender breasts

So I tip the candle
Feel hot wax drip
Dripping on my thighs
Still burning, upside down
The base of the candle
Enters the folds of delicate skin

Eyes closed, heat against my legs
Wax hardening, back arched
And stifled cries of pleasure
Intensity weaknes to a slow throb
I finally open my eyes to see you there
Your own fingers deep inside you

I never heard the knock at the door. . .