The Hostile Typhoon

To him, Voluptuous are her thick lips when she sulks; Bewildering are her eyes when she lurks; Enticing is her glow in high voltage. An irresistible to encapsulate. To her Simulating are the moves that he employs; Nourishing are the words that he writes. The unobtrusive is his desire charged. A ponderous, to put in a nutshell. Driven by tides of time, Perfidy stares at her face, Fanned by the firebrand. She is half ripe and he, fully ripe. She is a cold candle set aflame. A portrayal of sensuality. With her poise and grace, She makes him yawn and pine. With his pen and words, He makes her wean and lean. She lets go of her inhibition And collapses like waves Splashing against old rock ashore. He lets go of his reservation And sweeps, like whirling wind, The whole olive tree, semi ripe. Both entangle themselves And dismantle each other. All in a hostile typhoon. Since then rests on them the guilt. [a middle aged woman and a lad Were on slippery ground] 16.11.2002