She was a storm wrapped in silk—<br> a nymph of insatiable ache,<br> with moonlit eyes and lips that tasted of need.<br> Her hair fell like shadows down her back,<br> a black waterfall that trembled<br> every time her body arched<br> to the rhythm of her own craving.<br>Her breasts, full and alive,<br> rose like tides beneath trembling fingers.<br> She knew pleasure like a language,<br> spoke it in sighs and moans,<br> her breat h painting the air with heat.<br> And when the moment claimed her,<br> it wasn't silence that followed—<br> but a flood, fierce and surrendering,<br> an offering her body made to the night.<br> She came undone<br> like poetry too dangerous to be read aloud.

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