He’s young, temperamental, but oh such storm.

A spring in his step, sweet lips touch mine.

Moistened from soft shapes too strange to define.

As soon as it blooms, love’s lost in transform.

A much hotter man whom I can fawn.

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He lathers my skin with kisses so fine.

The days were long when I called him mine.

The nights were too, but along comes dawn.

He’s fire and red and always in fashion.

Bright colour on display, he’s a handsome beau.

Does a breezy strip and I’m succumbing.

Beneath me he’ll writhe in angry passion,

and shiver into emerging white snow.

A premature end, winter is coming.