Is it a chill in the air?
Or just the gait and strides of pride
from a sweet innocent maiden fair?
Bewitched, possessed, trembling cold and aching blue?
Burning in desire? With will & passion a flame?
Oh, her relief! How I wish she let me in,
into tears of joy and glistening, wicked pearly whites.


I see fire in her soulful eyes, a coy cat that plays,
with squirrels in a tree, longing wild n' free,
on a bucking horse, her flooding gate of lust,
in every honest trust, notes climbs high n' low,
beneath a benevolent sky, filled with stars,
with each swoop and slide, how jubilant she cries.