Swift, silent and succulently sweet
whispering softly, nestled against flesh
teasing, prying, Yearing for the slight impression
Delivering nothing but excitement along the way
Holding, burning, delighting the mind
to drive would wild with feverish sin
So great, "le petit morte" to feel, that its from the outside coming in

Mayhap the silent voicelingers in teh ear
Clings to one as a woman until morning
Liek the orchid blooms and summer moons
The rush of passion slowly overtakes the limbs
Stirring theheart of the matter with rising intensity
Rising in spirit to lower oneself as in prayer
does the breeze pass over one's lips

Like gallant, galloping stallions
it breaks from a gentle trot into a fierce gallop
It's powerful stride to push through like the scorpion's sting does pierce flesh
This wind, this breeze takes more than what it seems to take
Yet it delivered hot, smoldering emotions that please, tesases and surrenders
like it needs to.