"She stands at the foot of the bed"

She stands at the foot of the bed,
arousal palpable in the ambience of the room.
Lights dimmed low, illuminating the rising heat in the air.
She stands like a bedevilled Eve in the garden of passion;
smooth, delicate—tautened strength in supple limbs.
A shift and a motion and the warm light quivers as she draws closer.
Electric storms like love's naïve, expectant first kiss.
Coronal mass ejections like the relenting of higher wills.
A staggering, a stifling and a kinetic chaos
—then a succumbing, a slowing and an enfolding collapse.
Her silver whispers stir residually quavering darkness
as sleep starts to steal us away into lesser dreams.

Ex Tempore LXXXV
M.M. — 27-Aug-2014