Torrid Tempest - Poem by c.a. sherman
The tempo of the raindrops
play a haunting, private tune
Harmonizing with her heartbeat
in cadence with the moon.
With feline stealth she enters
the embraces of the night;
Dons a coat of midnight
and a crown of pure starlight.
Without pretense or suspicion
knowing there's no choice,
She pursues the whisper of the wind
where she hears his haunting voice.
A faceless stranger beckons her,
from an undulating mist...
Enslaving her voraciously
in an erotic, tangled tryst.
His rain caresses scent and sheen,
like silver tinsel on her skin;
Touching halos round her head,
while vowing eternal sin.
A chaste and breathless angel...
A waif in luminous form...
Surrenders her virginity
to the vortex of his storm.
Ravenous and ready,
she sheds caution with her lace;
And voluntarily gives her soul
to this man who has no face.
This foreigner devours her,
and licks his greedy lips;
Consuming all her innocence,
in an intimate eclipse.
Like predator he stalks her,
as she lay on velvet earth...
Then possesses her with dominance,
and watches passion giving birth.
The storm crescendos an aria
that squelch her feral screams;
And lunar deities feed on it,
as they awaken from their dreams.
Then above the storm there's heard a wail,
an unspoken, victorious sound...
As the virile stranger takes his prize
and leaves her on the ground.
As his absence stills the shrieking wind,
and splits the clouds apart...
A sated frost is all that's left,
for he took with him...
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