Storm

Like the zephyr breeze, he came to me
            Enveloping, caressing,
Gentle passion, wicked intention,
Numbing and blinding mind and soul
               till naught was left
But the fevered desire of weakened flesh.
Like the desert winds he came to me
        Spinning gold dust and devious chants
No siren song, but the sirocco hymn
Of fluid melody and structured lies,
         A dance too inviting to ignore.
The proffered hand I grasped,
          The honeyed lies I devoured,
The mindless feast I entered
A willing slave, a devoted fool,
Deaf to thought and caution, heeding only want.
And when the tempests left me, wasted and spent,
     No afterglow bathed this sodden heap,
No cherished memories lingered,
Only the quiet pain of guilt and misgiving
Amidst a shower of mistral tears.