One Night Stand

 

At her door, Jack Frost wrapped himself around her,

Thrilling her with his chill breath upon her neck,

Running frigid fingers up and down her spine, and

Playing cool jazz on her ribcage as if it were a xylophone.

It didn’t occur to her to ask him in for a nightcap,

But the moment she’d opened the door a crack

His pushed it wide and rushed in past her,

Entering into her home like he lived there.

She’d always had a weakness for bad boys.

You know the mild, gentle ones whose delicate touch,

Barely there, tracing softly with warmth

you barely noticed?  They simply bored her.

Oh, but this one was very bad indeed.  No gentle

Touch or warm caress.  There was little doubt

About his hunger, his need, his drive to devour,

Like a starving polar bear who hasn’t eaten in days.

He howled and whirled like a dervish, spinning

And swirling and piercing her skin with his icy touch,   

And then blew through, as his type always do,

Leaving her shivering and ready for a hot shower.

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Written for One Shot Wednesday.