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.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  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.