Master of your weather

Can my tongue be your tsunami
Applying pressure of destructive force
To every part of your body?
Can my breath be your wind
Getting every hair on your skin
Excited like a field of wheat?
Can my teeth be your frost
Biting rich soil of your breasts
Turning your nipples stone-hard?
Can my fingers be your lightning
Sending electricity through your clit
To your brain impatiently craving
For a natural disaster to happen?
Say yes. Submit to me,
The master of your weather
With me, my dear planet
There is no need for forecasts.