Lust, when it grips us,  is a sudden swell,  
occasional in a mountain river flowing downhill,
from the high ranges of inflamed emotions.

The ecstatic roar while the  discharge is easily forgotten ,
the river  runs dry soon enough , when the torrents abruptly stop,
as the winds chase away the clouds, all of a sudden.

But those pools, your blue,beautiful eyes, clearly defy,
rules of seasons,brims invariably with love pure, all along,
and yes,it gets replenished,from the deep well springs
of your heart, it remains full whether I am far or near.