In the quiet realm of her own design,
She seeks the touch that’s hers alone,
A tender dance of love and kin,
A secret song that she has known.
Her fingers trace the path they’ve learned,
A journey through the valleys deep,
The curves that hold her passion burned,
A map of longing, love, and sleep.
Each stroke ignites a hidden flame,
A fire that within her grows,
As moments pass, like whispers tame,
The embers glow, the passion shows.
Her breath, a rhythm soft and slow,
A lullaby that sings her name,
And as she nears the edge of bliss,
A tremor stirs, a subtle aim.
The orgasm, a distant star,
Approaches near, a beacon bright,
A promise of the pleasure’s peak,
A moment bathed in pure delight.
Her heart beats faster, like a drum,
A pulse that echoes through her core,
And as she feels the waves of love,
She knows the storm will soon explore.
The orgasm, a burst of light,
A burst of passion’s purest form,
A testament to pleasure’s power,
A moment of her heart’s own storm.
Her body shakes, a quivering dance,
A quake of joy, a silent plea,
A moment captured in the night,
Where passion’s fire sets her free.
And as the storm subsides, a gentle rain,
Of afterglow and sweet release,
She finds herself in this sacred space,
A poet of her own desires and peace.
