Waiting For The Water To Boil

Tepid the flames meet their match  
heating ever so slow  
each longing look I yearn  
begging not to burn  

temperatures seared in sound  
as every bubble pleads
quenching of a need  
 
flames stoked then teased  
fanning in the mid-noon breeze  
 
steam builds  
the whistles blow  
the blue of your liquid, waters  
reddened, parched lips are licked  
then salted  
 
deliciousness craves it's comfort  
finally we're about to dine