Selene

She finds me in the open air,
her light a slow spill across my bare skin,
cool at first, like the brush of silk
before it ignites.

I feel her gaze linger,
not gentle but ravenous,
her touch sliding over me—
neck, shoulders, the curve of my spine—
like water seeking every hollow.
She doesn’t ask; she takes.

Her glow seeps through me,
a fever disguised as light.
I arch, let her claim me—
her fingers, shadows weaving with silver,
mark me in places no sun can reach.

The night holds its breath,
but I don’t.
I sigh into her,
the sound swallowed by the stillness,
my body alive with the ache of her touch.

She knows my secrets—
every shiver, every gasp that betrays me.
Her light pools between my thighs,
slow and deliberate,
a lover who knows where to linger,
how to make me plead.

And still, she offers no mercy,
only more of herself.
Her light, her fire,
her ancient, untamed hunger—
she presses it into me
until I am hers,
until I glow with her.

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Once in a while, not as often as it used to be, I write these more explicit pieces. This one is brand new. Written 30 minutes ago. By the way, the name Selene is derived from the ancient Greek goddess of the moon. The poem was inspired by last night’s full moon.