Shall I compare her to a winter’s day?
She is less windy, no coldness either.
Lets December’s chilly air feel its way
Beneath the bodice that does wrap her.
Though now is winter, her fire is burning.
My pulse should quicken at the scent of spring.
Now she is scorched from hot hormones flowing,
Now her aroma excites my bee sting.
Her sternum rises in expectation,
Cognitive dissonance fuddles my brain.
Her buttocks whip and show her frustration,
I can’t defer, to spend in her, my stain.
My lust, fleeing the cold that can shrivel
Heats her husband’s manners. They stay uncivil.