Maiden of the Mist

by Ashes of a Black Rose aka Night Child   Feb 2, 2009


She wears the sound of water
As she glides from steaming clouds.
Her bare skin sings the scent of fragility,
Peacefulness haunting the air around her.

Upon her pale, parted lips,
There reads a look of need, of pleas,
And her eyes walk their observers to a land serene,
To a place where passion and lust divide,
United in motive and sense.

Her collar bones protrude her chest,
Shoulders lying confidence.
Her chest lacks the provocation of desire,
And she reeks of willingness as she glides,
Glides from streaming clouds.

Her hair shadows her tilted face,
Hiding from uncertainty.
Beads of water linger on her lips and brow,
Inviting the feel of outside flesh.

Her hips roll like a soft song,
Swivelling as she glides from steaming clouds.

Her crossed legs crave corruption,
to unveil, unlock the treasure they hold.
Her obsidion pupils leak diversion from her body,
Fearing the lack of all that she indeed possesses:
Perfection.

Her hand rests, one, atop her breast firm,
The other above the V between hips,
Innocent and shielding,
Protection.

she wears the sound of water
As she glides from steaming clouds...

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