Hot for my girl.

What drives me there?  As a man.  To reach out, eager to strike?  To breathe, groan, my eyes bewitched by her presence.  What is it?

When I look over at her, her figure swaying, lips full, eyes piercing.  Dancing in living, skin glowing in the sunlight.  What is it that catches my eye?  The curve of her hips, the way she moves?  I have seen it much, very often.  Lingering scent in my nostrils.  Familiar.  Her gorgeous legs in a perfect outfit, capturing the shape of her body.

I have seen off of this before.

What is it then, that slays me.  Each time.  What drives me back?

It is not her beauty, though she is most lovely.  It is not her sweetness, her voice, her fire, her body.  Not the way she seduces the air she walks in.

It is all of this, and none of this.

The essence of her womanhood, flashing and slashing, a chaotic rainbow of strobing lights.  The woman I love, swirling through the fires of daily renewal.

Seductress, siren, sorceress.

A whirlwind of carnal vapours, shimmering in her skin.  Changing her every day.  That she can fall into it, surrender into herself.  Her blood beating new blood.  Never alike, always reborn.  Explosive, piercing, sorrowful, loving, motherlike, nurturing.  Never a day alike.  Always, my teeth on edge, my chest gripped with longing, excitement.

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