He has no choice but to chase her.
This hurricane of a girl,
who carries a roiling storm of turbulent winds behind her glances,
and breathes deeply of natural disaster.
Men will fall for forces of chaos.
Then pursue them despite emotional harm.
All he desires is her and that has made him blind.
He loves how the rain scents her skin.
She smells like dark mahogany and loam.
He loves her rounded gestures.
The way they angle in swooshing arcs,
cutting and emphasizing dialogue.
He wants to kiss her, hold her, be with her, talk to her.
But her crooked, crescent mouth sings only of destruction and implosion.
There’s no time for love or affection.
Her body is an empty vessel for primal lusts.
As slurred, blurred words are panted against her ear.
That’s how long she can stop.
That’s how long she can stay.
She’s caught in the swirl of her turmoil.
And like a hurricane she tears through place and setting.
Always in search of better things.
She has no time to puzzle out love.