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.
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