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80
R. Veyne
Freelancer, Writer, data analyst @ Mtn, Lean Technology
Freelancer, Writer, data analyst @ Mtn, Lean Technology
Heatwave in Motion: Part III — Smoke in the Sheets
<p>He woke in sweat, with sheets undone,</p><p>Still tasting fire, still chasing sun.</p><p>Her scent clung tight like second skin,</p><p>A curse of where she’d never been.</p><p>He searched the clubs, the backroom doors,</p><p>The streets where lust still floods the floors.</p><p>Each waist that moved, he stared, he hoped</p><p>But none could match how she had spoke.</p><p>His nights grew wild, his touch turned rough,</p><p>No kiss was deep, no thrill enough.</p><p>The girls came close, then ran away,</p><p>Afraid of what his eyes would say.</p><p>He saw her once... at 3AM,</p><p>A silhouette in silk and flame.</p><p>She said, “Still burning? Still not full?”</p><p>Then smiled, and made his demons pull.</p><p>He begged for her, to taste, to break,</p><p>To drown inside the mess she’d make.</p><p>She let him touch.. a second’s grace,</p><p>Then flipped him flat, and rode his face.</p><p>Her thighs like cuffs, her breath like wine,</p><p>He choked on moans and crossed the line.</p><p>She whispered filth straight in his head,</p><p>Words that left his morals dead.</p><p>But just before he came undone,</p><p>The world around began to run.</p><p>She vanished mid-ride, wild and cruel</p><p>And left him gasping, dazed, a fool.</p><p>Now every night, he dreams her near,</p><p>The clapping rhythm in his ear.</p><p>She’s not a girl. She’s not a flame.</p><p>She’s hunger born without a name.</p><p>He had a taste.. but never more.</p><p>That nyansh? A myth. A curse. A lore.</p>
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