Morrigan

Lost in her, he wanders
There’s something in the way she walks up to him
Slowly. Willfully. Seductively. Awkwardly
A playful smirk dances lightly on the tip of her lips
No step is rushed, and each step she takes is different
It does something different to her body, to him
There is a calmness to her
A calmness that is a harbinger to a violent thunderstorm
She’s lightening

Huddled, he waits for her
Not daring to speak, to move
His heart beats so very loudly, impounded in his chest
He waits for her, drinking all of her in
Not wanting to disturb her magical dance she weaves
The reflection of the hearth in her tan skin, he follows
Each disturbance in it, as she walks, he notices
His gaze travels up and locks into her eyes

The flames dance in there
Yet, there is a stillness in her eyes
In the stillness, there’s mischief
In the mischief, there’s a longing
In the longing, there’s caution
To the caution, there’s a reckless abandonment
To the recklessness, there’s a feral grace
In that, there’s an untamed curiosity
And in that curiosity, there’s innocence

She is no seductress
She is no saint
She is not sinful, nor is she his salvation
She belong to something old, something wild
Something unchanged
Tonight, she belongs to him