Autumn is kissing the swamp maples
and God it feels like foreplay
The air is hinting at the frost to come
and it dances on my tongue
and crawls down my throat
The breeze grips me
like fingernails down my spine
My toes curl and my breath fogs
as I drink down the taste

Possessing a lover can be a feeling so addictive
and I've never know a lust like this