And I Could Walk Away At Last

If I had a choice,
Between making you mine,
and reducing you to ash -
which would I choose?

I remember the feel of your skin,
supple and smooth.
The memory of your scent,
Our hands entwined.
It proved fleeting, though, didn't it?
Distant, now - yet strangely close.
As if I could step back into it at a moment.
Would I dare? Could I dare?
Would you care?

In the end this would surely break me.

But to see you burn, now that would be
Sublime. Magnificent.
The memory of harmony in uproarious flame.
As fire bursts from my fingertips -
The very same that once caressed you -
fire, flowing and consuming.
Your stifled screams, your choking gasps!
Exhilarating!
A twisted reflection of your moans of pleasure,
long past, that die with you.
Every slight, every mark,
Every time you made me FEEL -
Every word and every tear and every passionate declaration,
Revenged upon you tenfold, in flame.

If I had a choice,
Between making you mine,
and reducing you to ash -
You would burn.