one of how many?
Little arson set it off,
Got too high and caught himself,
the life of a woman,
in a pot, on shelf.
Little arson let it off,
Got too wrecked and sat alone,
the laughs of a woman,
flooded, hung on a single drone.
Little arson tore it off,
Got too crooked and slept in crescent,
the heat of a woman,
replaced, by a box, incandescent.
Little arson screamed it off,
Got too fired up and ended talk,
the lust of a woman,
floated, recounted and infinitely mocked.