I watch you

In the gloom of the night, I watch you;
but you do not know it.

As if you were a canvas, I see you drawn in a dark room, only illuminated by the white arrows of the moon. You breathe slowly, like the waves of a calm sea, and in the swinging of the air that is born and dies in your diaphragm, sway, like a ship, your hands. They, adventurous of your oceans, furrow the silk that sticks to the curves of your body; they explore your breasts, move through your belly and, very slowly, they anchors between your thighs.

Hidden in the curtains, I devour you with my eyes;
but you can not see me.

And those hands are pagan: mercilessly desecrate your sex and sacrifice before the altar of passions, your groans. Your lips of fire and your body consumed by the flames of sin twist with pleasure as you dig the roots of your thousand demons until, through your moist thighs, the transparent lines of ecstasy are drawn

Now I'm watching you; and you know it
... but, far from fearing me: you are pleased.