Updated: July 23, 2025 18:05

She is like an evening storm in a glass of red wine, Darkness draped on her shoulders, her breath feels like time. You can’t see her face, but you feel her stare — It wraps around you like forbidden air. Night lives in her hair, tangled deep in each wave, And the curve of her hips makes the candles behave. She’s a statue of lust, carved in silence and flame, And the shadows around her all whisper her name. She’ll take your hand and lead you — into a world of pleasure, where nothing is locked. Where bodies do the talking, and time gets lost, Where you fall with a smile — and never say stop. Not sweet, not simple — she plays with sin, Her voice like a crime that calls you in. She’s not about “love,” she’s all about “crave.” Like lightning in silk on a shoulder that sways.