Poetry

Fondled by the temptation of an autumn sunset
Erect stands a woman in the cradle of such potent winds
Quite dashingly contributing colour to the scene
Her silky, black dress enveloping her ever so tightly
Composing the shape of an inviting taboo
Whilst refraining all comely sounds of vernacular
How her lips whisper things of which previously I knew not
Sign o’ the times