She's a clumsy feline,
A producer of selective shivers
In sheer long glares she gives
Untimely soul feelers.

Which creeps through my bones
Since the last days of winter,
A clutched wanter of deeds,
In an almost sold properties.

She dusts me with her coat
Golden as the sweet summer sun,
Brewing my sleepy dull senses
Like a good coffee and a bun.

For I have told her factually
That these eyes are mere blinded,
But the instincts are sharpened
From the good old days I've reminded.

Come home again, she invited,
To the capital of hope and romances.
As she metals in and moans in discreet,
Then blast me with a little furry treat.