Lustfully Hasty

On the night before Easter, she comes with eyes of a wounded bird chained by a tale of a lone wolf in deceitful blue who speaks of a boat sailing on the seas of secrecy on moonless nights and perilous days.

I write a telegram of heartache on her behalf when she pines for an end to her shattered heart after a night of breathless state, painting the air with lust in haste from his wicked whispers to her untainted flesh.