Too much beauty to keep it quiet

What is perception, just a way of ordering chaos? Within this order comes the other side of the coin; undeniable instinct, and all of the confusion that comes with it.

The tempest that sleeps; quiet and stoic beneath reason and logic, rumbles as my eyes dance over her form. 

It's tongue, electric green, flicks playfully and makes my body hot, makes my eyes wide, makes my lips dry. 

Splinters of some ancient longing; some primeval fundament; rips through me without cause or purpose, only serving to make me wince as I fumble for the key to its cage.

She is temptation; youth, danger and vigour embodied; carnal passion flows in her blood, indolence plays about her jagged mind. Her every movement screams to me. Already I am caught in her, lost in her, drowning in her. 

I push back raging thoughts and roar for calm once more; for my gentle soul to quell this vapid sirens promise. 

My mind is shaken, and my heart is open.

Danger Will Robinson. Danger...

Author's Note

While this does not sit with the typical metre, rhythm stucture or rhyme scheme associated with poetry, I have loaded it with enough description to combat this; making it thick and full to mirror the chaotic nature of these thoughts.