Warning: It's rapey-ish? Implied... I don't know. It's supposed to be rapey.
Warm summer nights are the best for Rites,
They offer clear skies and no wind.
Then along comes a man, that magick can't ban,
His invitation you can't rescind.
He ties you up by a tree, your clothing is free,
As he begins a night of sin.
Now you're moved to the ground, for a quick little pound,
And you'd rather have met a djinn.
Then he leaves you alone, and you're chilled to the bone,
Too exhausted to make a din.
You wake in the morn next to clothes that are torn,
And you realize it's half past ten.
So you conjure some magick, the man's fate is tragic,
But in the end, you win.
Please note: I'm actually working on a story with this but when I thought of the first line and it rhymed, I was like, "Yeah...let me just run with this." I don't do poetry though. At all. I will try to hurry with the actual story though because I'm really excited about it