The Wolf

She has this urge that makes her open her mouth and howl, This undoubtible urge that cannot be ignored. She cannot express it, this desire that comes as an howl A kind of war that screams in peace, isolated from everything she knew. An annihilation of the shutters felt through skin. Coming to a complete hault, a still breeze. A silence of footsteps heard from foliage An ecstacy of sorts. Spreading like wildfire, burning everything it touches. Laid bare in an empty room, her. Cutting loose, giving into need. This passion that beckons her howl Well aware of the moon Bottled in winter's height. A wisp of desire rising from her cry No longer disillusioned, she howls. Head held high, naked in euphoria