In warm embrace of summer's night,  
She sleeps alone, bathed in moonlight.  
The sheets still damp from love's embrace,  
Now hold the echo of her trace.

Her skin, aglow with passion's sheen,  
Reflects the dreams where she has been.  
An open window, curtains sway,  
Invites a breeze to gently play.

It whispers through the midnight air,  
A tender touch that finds her there.  
Like fingertips on harp strings light,  
It strums her chords in silent flight.

The cello's bow across her soul,  
Draws out the notes that make her whole.  
Vibrato sighs and long-held tones,  
Resound within her, deep and lone.

The breeze becomes her lips, her tongue,  
A haunting melody unsung.  
Her body, tuned to night's refrain,  
Responds to each emotive strain.

Cool air upon her moist warm skin  
Ignites a fire that burns within.  
Her rivers flow, a passionate tide,  
As senses stir and dreams collide.

Half-waking in this sweet suspense,  
She savors every reverence.  
Is this the wind or her return?  
Do phantom hands make senses yearn?

Lost between slumber and the dawn,  
She wonders if she's truly gone.  
Was it the breeze that touched her so,  
Or just a memory's gentle glow?