- Erotic Poetry
- The Storm
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The Storm
Lightning flickers from the walls,
A black and white film
Glimpsed through frosted glass.
Thunder rolls around the distance,
Like a needle stuck in a scratched record.
And I am mesmerised,
Not by the distant storm,
But by the body next to me,
Soft, sleeping.
I want to bring the storm inside,
To draw lightning from your skin,
As my fingers trace your breasts,
To call thunder from your throat,
As I slowly explore you,
With my mouth, my tongue.
Most of all, I want to conjure that moment
When the storm is at its height,
When thunder and lightning are together,
When our bodies are as one,
When the storm is echoed in our cries.
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