Lightning strikes, the shock meets the skin, and burns.
The warm breeze follows, and calms the body.
Fingers grasp the sheets, she cries out and yearns,
a moan escapes her lips, a minuscule plea.

They say lightning never strikes twice; They're right...
it hits again and again, harder every time.
She want it though, to feel the lightning's bite,
because the kiss the follows is so sublime.

And when the storm is over, it lingers.
The pain. The pleasure. Still there, but mild.
Dull roar in her ears, sting in her fingers,
thoughts of the lightning can still drive her wild.

The sweet sorrow of the storm in her brain,
she loves the bitter ecstasy of pain.