He was a passionate cock, a fiery lover. She was an It girl. It was a gold mine for the tabloids. His nectar was sweet and spicy, his taste so succulent, but she paid a bitter price. He had swooped in, sweeping her off of her hooves, only to all too soon fly away clutching her heart. Now she was angry, and so she did what most scorned pop divas do: she wrote a song. He had ignited a spark within her chest that remained even after he was gone. And from that ember, with a husky roar, she soared.

Author's Notes:

There's an inferno beginning beneath my chest
Approaching a pyrexia volume, it's taking me from death.
At last I am able to view you leaded glass transparent
Please proceed and pimp me and I'll disclose where you're errant.
Observe the way in which I depart holding all bits of your form
Don't low-ball the actions which I shall perform.
There's an inferno beginning beneath my chest
Approaching a pyrexia volume, and it's taking me from death.

The cicatrices of the adoration you contain evoke our companionship
They continue my surmising that you and I nearly possessed every bit.
The cicatrices of the adoration you contain, they abscond with my breathing
I am powerless to change my opinion that

We might have been able to obtain the summation
Tumbling through the depths
My ticker was within the confines of your paw
In addition it was performed upon my you, in a precise metronomic fashion.