Upon my back, so gently laid,
Touched with a fragile care displayed,
Kisses tender, fearing I might break,
But such intimacy, I find it dull, forsake.
Primal desires ignite my yearning flame,
A hunger for presence, a primal claim,
Eyes pleading, longing to capture my gaze,
Their sole intent, my pleasure to amaze.
For I, not frail, bear Viking lineage bold,
With blood of witches, whose stories are told,
From suffering souls, my being has been shaped,
Born from ashes, resilient and undraped.
My heart won't quicken for mere flowers' bloom,
Nor diamonds shed tears, their sparkle's gloom,
Love me as prey, hunted by famished might,
A predator starved, craving me through the night.
No longer can I bear the gentle touch,
Of a man mild, whose caress is too much,
Iron taste upon my tongue, a primal bite,
Suppressing screams with lips pressed tight.
No muscle-bound man, lifting me with ease,
I'm not a feather, weightless on the breeze,
My figure's curves carry a storied past,
I seek a man of substance, not simple and vast.
The suitor I choose must bear weight and power,
A primal force, igniting passion's devour,
I am no fragile frame, slender and slight,
and therefor need a partner befitting my tempestuous plight.
