The moon screamed for attention over the salt sea,
With borrowed silver brilliance of the departed golden sun.
The clouds subdued it; but let in the sea breeze,
Beneath her hair, it did hide.
But even the breeze tried to smother a rising blush,
As it caressed her lips, swollen from his ardor,
Returned to the sea, leaving only him to touch her,
Finding her lips again, he dared her,
His advances to defy.
For once, she let go, to let in what she didn’t dare,
Wantonness or intoxication, she couldn’t be sure,
Which of either to thank,
And yet she didn’t protest when skilful hands did mould,
Every shape of her desire.
What fool wrote ugliness about a thing as beautiful as this,
What ugliness had befallen her, to deny herself this simplicity,
This anticipation when breaths were both deep and shallow,
And those tell-tale bruises, a mark of beauty.
She let those unexpected flames soar high.
The sea roared accompanying them,
The waves rose and crashed to meet the coarse sand,
And drew away to tease it.
Somewhere nearby, he did the same to her, twisting and teasing hard,
She craved more of this bliss, she cried.
And once the storms passed,
She stared again at the form that brought them,
She’s frightened at her wants; the depth’s overwhelming.
As proven by the red crescents all over his skin.
She mused, let the fires warm the winter sea’s breeze; may this be our night.