So silent the hush, so violent the touch,
So achingly tender the pain,
Like a scalding kiss, like a bruising bliss,
Your touch burns like a flame.
Midnight strands slip though my hands,
and I gasp as I feel the weight,
Of heavy muscle as we toss and tussle,
On a bed till the night grows late.
My breath hitches, my back arches,
In barely controlled fervor,
I gasp and pant, and your name I chant,
In a scandalous, ravenous murmur.
The moon's light-beams, like milk-white streams,
drench you and me so whitely,
that we brightly glow like the winter snow,
and the Night blushes so divinely.
Hot caresses and sweet addresses,
tumble from thirsting lips,
and with a wanton moan and a wild, wild groan,
We fall into hidden bliss.
The mist takes all, the raindrops fall,
Like a chagrined mother's rage,
And still we dance in a manic trance,
Like Passion's puppets on a Stage.
Because at night, we're free to play.