Crushed Ice

Fingers slowly exploring
like salt in a wound,
a slightly quicker breath
enough to awaken the beast
bring him crashing down
on the gates of your morality
tearing through them
and forcing his way through,
into your soul.

and once there, he sits
quiet and biding his time,
waiting to surrender.

waiting to surrender
to the slightest touch
waiting to surrender
when your fingers
trace invisible lines of fire
on my back

waiting to surrender
at that moment
when the winds of your ecstasy
blows through the trees of my strength.