She is a storm. Unleashed; empowered. She knows her worth and yields it with abandon. Her power is her presence. Her gaze makes men go weak and women hunger for something unnamed.
She walks through life with a tempest on the tip of her tongue. Her hair is the stormy sea; her eyes, a squall.
Words misspoken. A wish granted. Every step agony. Her price for sharing our world.
A touch from her will bring a man to his knees. He’s left breathless and bloody but would beg for more. Men at sea go mad searching for her.
Her desires send waves crashing and ships run aground. She is born from the raging sea.
She weeps salty tears as she yearns for the watery realm she left behind.
Copyright (C) 2018 Penny Wilson