She’s Holy Flame

She’s holy flame, a subtle sin, a secret thought, a private yen.
And heart to flight, I wrestle lust, a scented dream, a stream
Afflux. My tunic flare, a starry tear, a hidden tare, a gravid
Spear. And yoga light, the lux of pain, a lever blown, the flit
Of pang. For depth of thought, the walk of death, the birth of
God, the deed of breath. And motion fraught, a spirit flex, the
Fleck of love, a psalmic test. And soul to grog, the fog of
Thought, the thresh of mind, a torrid hawk.

She’s holy flame, a subtle sin, a secret thought, a private yen.
And lotic volt, a ferric ache, a spirit flight, a scripted bait.
And arms of love, a fractured soul, a fiction flare, the thought
Of gold. My subtle sin, abate the flame, suffuse the light,
Distract the aim. For depth of thought, the walk of death, the
Birth of God, the deed of breath.

Gravid: pregnant; a burden; to be filled to capacity.
Fleck: a very small patch of color or light.
Grog: to intoxicate with strong alcohol. 

Torrid: sweltering.
Ferric: iron.
Abate: to lessen the intensity of the “thing” causing intensity.