She steps from the shower, a figure of grace,

The steam clings to her, soft as lace.

The towel falls silent at the foot of the bed,

Her body aglow where the water has bled.

𖤓

She stands in the dim light, her skin exposed,

Water slides gently, tracing her thighs as it flows.

Her back arches softly, a sight that commands,

A silhouette traced by the brush of her hands.

𖤓

She reaches for me, her touch just a tease,

Fingers lingering, setting fire with ease.

A storm in her stillness, electric and rare,

Each glance, each pause, heavy in the air.

𖤓

Her scent, a spell, sweet venom that lingers,

Carving my thoughts with its soft, wicked fingers.

She's the storm, the spark, the rose in full bloom,

A fleeting obsession that lights up the room.

𖤓

I crave her touch, ache with every breath,

Thirst for her presence, hunger unto death.

No one before her, no one to come,

She is my world, my only sun.