Woman of sensual storms

Internal flame flickers, winds of creation threatening.
Plumes of ash cling to my damp skin and I cup my hands
around a ruby ember, singing my cold fingers,
my colder thoughts. Only in shadow can it be seen,
dancing like a distant star.

What's blue is gray; what's gray is blue
and my eyes are reflecting pools. My untamed
curls are silken whisps of cloud, my body
a vessel, molded from turpitude. When the fog rolls in,
desperation clings to rude perversions.

Lonely are we who walk in solitude,
yet our kind is never blinded by darkness
for we carry the moon on our shoulders and
desire's renaissance upon our lips.

The madness of us; it builds on the horizon,
a coming storm. Gales, reprisals,
the chrysalis of agony that begets ecstasy;
the shearing winds of art & love.

(Artwork unknown)