Storm With A Skin

Silently, with a smile, in her own little world, she slumbers.

Breathing calmly, like a virago, so valiant.

Fighting, drinking her own brine, with emotions void & vacant

And the pain, and the suffering, she cumbers.

Like a numinous devotee, I watch her, adoring her golden skin.

She sleeps like a goddess with tawny hair. Behind which her face eclipsed.

Hair like the rays of the dawning sun. With lips like the buds of tulip.

Quiet as a feather, with her sigil, sleeps the queen.

Don't wake her up. Let her sleep till the crimson morning.

With that curl of her lips. With those sweet dreams. With her poise.

Let her repose in peace, tucked in the dew from her eyes.

Let be her calm. As once awake, she will be storming.

She is not vulnerable, not weak. She is just letting you weigh-in.

She will rise and destroy, believe me, she is not a woman. She is Storm with a Skin!