She was a storm wrapped in silk—
a nymph of insatiable ache,
with moonlit eyes and lips that tasted of need.
Her hair fell like shadows down her back,
a black waterfall that trembled
every time her body arched
to the rhythm of her own craving.
Her breasts, full and alive,
rose like tides beneath trembling fingers.
She knew pleasure like a language,
spoke it in sighs and moans,
her breat h painting the air with heat.
And when the moment claimed her,
it wasn t silence that followed—
but a flood, fierce and surrendering,
an offering her body made to the night.
She came undone
like poetry too dangerous to be read aloud.
