The warm wind is blowing on the eve of the storm,
building and growing, swelling and rising in the distance, nearing,
but I do not care for the promised tempest,
I do not care for safeguards and security,
I must run through the still calm waves,
splashing, laughing gleefully, exuberant,
feel the fingers of the warm breeze
run along my legs and arms, through my hair,
have the sun touch my wanting skin,
feast my eyes on the golden sands stretched out before me,
I plunge headlong into dizzying pleasure.
……not even the storm is promised to me
and it will come whether I hide or not,
so for now, for now I will play….