Storm

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Like a ruined vessel, without an anchoring in the deep ocean;
a  love, struggles in the storm; for an inner desire, for a vision;
It’s for a gaze on woman's gorgeous, soft curves, half covered;
a light, pinkish, piercing pause; Its for a glimpse over exposed;
Within an embrace of love and affection, everything gets so wild
It looks out, innocently over the aperture of the blue dress, mild;
Her long coiled, black curls, lips, cheeks and face are so tempting;
Lust is always in its initiative, and a longing for my death is inviting.

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BY

WILLIAMSJI MAVELI