Jealous of the wind as it wraps itself around you.

Around branches and limbs.

In and out.

Blowing, Twisting, Turning.

Sounds of cracking stretching branches.

Moans and screams of pleasure pain.

Releasing her succulent fruit for a moments time.

Wishing of the rain and its merciless tranquil power.

Slowly absorbing every leaf and petal.

Nourishing a thirsty pulsating flower.

Quietly rushing down a trembling naked vulnerable trunk.

Only to inject itself into a soil

filled with roots lusting and throbbing with desire.

Warmth of the sun's truth reveals

the thorn tree bears a fruit of Eden.

Rose in color with an aroma

that takes to the air like a smoke filled room.

Choking pleasures hidden by shadows of the moon.

Lurking in and out of darkness from within the brush.

Peering through like a vourerist child.

The thorn tree remains distant and illusive.

A shadow on a hilltop.

Dangerously close.

Deathly alluring.