She steps from the shower, a figure of grace,
The steam clings to her, soft as lace.
The towel falls silent at the foot of the bed,
Her body aglow where the water has bled.
𖤓
She stands in the dim light, her skin exposed,
Water slides gently, tracing her thighs as it flows.
Her back arches softly, a sight that commands,
A silhouette traced by the brush of her hands.
𖤓
She reaches for me, her touch just a tease,
Fingers lingering, setting fire with ease.
A storm in her stillness, electric and rare,
Each glance, each pause, heavy in the air.
𖤓
Her scent, a spell, sweet venom that lingers,
Carving my thoughts with its soft, wicked fingers.
She’s the storm, the spark, the rose in full bloom,
A fleeting obsession that lights up the room.
𖤓
I crave her touch, ache with every breath,
Thirst for her presence, hunger unto death.
No one before her, no one to come,
She is my world, my only sun.
