The Fire Inside…

He called it sex,
She, making love.
Thing was the same,
Difference was in the flame. 

One was there to burn,
The other one to melt in turn.
His version was wild,
Like a grown up child. 

Crissing & crossing,
Some tossing & bossing.
Hers was called passion,
No boundaries of fake fashion. 

She liked her way, so slow,
Till her cheeks were, pink enough to glow.
Soon the sun shone bright,
& she was in his arms, all tight. 

No matter how different their versions were
They both had the fire burning red with spur.

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