- Erotic Poetry
- Love Storm
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Her thighs are weakened by a churning storm,
How can a maiden left alone be chaste?
And would it really be against the norm
To touch herself and give herself a taste?
Or must she wait for joy on his return,
And must no slender finger chafe and touch?
The fine legs blushing, even as they turn
Into the wind, while her soft digits clutch;
And press until she feels the clouds will burst,
Heavy with moisture, so ready to fall,
Come thunder roll and lightning do your worst;
Illuminate the dance that she must call...
A heedless pleasure of life: it's no surprise,
This churning, storm between her weakened thighs.
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