She stares—
At the phone, waiting for it to ring.
In the nude and with truly
Nothing better to do.
Temptation calls now...
Without a trace of sound to be heard,
Only the sensation coursing through her veins.
At first—It burns.
And then, it mercilessly yearns.


Desire will define itself
As the most lust-stuck form
Of hopeless romanticism.
It is distinct with its intentions,
To slowly gratify—
Seductive inclinations.
We never ask why
Or how,
For it simply is.
To the core, it will thrill.
It will exist and manifest.
Until finally,

It rests.