It could have been anyone, but it was somebody. A dark night, a street; he emerged as witchcraft.
Everything I needed, but I didn’t know. Mysterious and impetuous, without saying a word, he took me as his own.
The naked sword blossomed my flower.
Fear and desire. Guilt and impulse. Being possessed in secret.
Intense.
Immense.
Deep.
Hot, sharp and humid.
Only I moaned, only I suffered and laughed. Scared and in love. Flooded me with your seed. It disappeared like a spell.
Without a word he left me fascinated and pregnant, on that street on a dark night.
