Winds of Passion

The September odoriferous winds Are not unlike my lover’s perfumed breath. Their sometimes subtleties, like cherubs wings Moving warm fragrant air across the earth; Like unto slumberous respirations My lover’s exhalations warm my bed. Yet winds must change, their aberrations, Those once heated airs turn to rage instead Whose blustering breaths blow prodigiously Like our passion’d breaths from pillowed-heads, Panting, respiring uncontrollably. December dawns, the wind is lulled unwed And virgin snow falls onto earthly spread. Thus, not unlike this maiden in my bed.