A lover most capricious is the wind.
At times he goes to Meadow. He exhales. . .
Beneath his breath, her grasses’ blades are pinned
until he’s spent, and then, away he sails.
He’s been to visit Forest many nights.
He gyrates through each tree, whose every limb
responds by rustling leaves, and this excites
him even more. He moans and gusts with vim!
But lust is inundating when Queen Sea
meets Wind. She surges when he starts to wail.
Her body rolls and rises. . . . Ecstasy
the times he comes as Tempest or as Gale.
But I prefer the side of Wind that’s soft. . .
when he caresses me with gentle waft.