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she's draped in navy blue that glitters entrancingly, but not more than the ebony irises of her deep, leonine eyes. she smells of roses for she is one; her eyelids the petals, the mere replica of her gentle touch adorned with thorns.
and when her breathy, artificially-sweetened voice leaves her parted lips, the waves crash outside the window and drown the fleeting traffic.
a hundred times, i assent to letting her take my breath away and claim it as hers.
when she tells me she's my savior from when i was drowning, i let her, conscious but uncaring that she is the sea. when she erases all of the lines with the tip of her warm finger and leaves my skin limitless, i let her.
the outline of her frame is made of flames and she talks in nothing but whispers. her silky laughter absorbs the tenseness of my shoulders and leaves me spellbound. the brief quirk to her lips cuffs my very existence to devotion;
unbidden, ardent, inane,
to her.
for she is lust. and i, her slave.
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