Windsong

My love presses like wine for you—

Oil crushed out, purest virgin.

I sweat great tears of blood for you,

All mingled there together.

And I can be a diligent friend,

Or a frightening lover,

But you must need know,

I walk alone,

My heart, in the Great Spirit Wind.

. . . . . . . . . . .

The wind pushed back my hood, and ran

His fingers through my hair,

Whooshed up my shirt with both hands,

Titillated my core,

Blew up my pant legs,

Chilling me,

Shivering all my timbers,

Then left me,

Because I was a bore.

-jenn long