An Adjuration

You come from the mountains
Prancing and flaunting, sparing few.
With eyes closed and chin high
I shall await you.

You just twirl fingers in my hair
And I shall know you have come.
Then you hold me as we shall stare
And kiss the tune that lips shall hum.

You grip me in a tender embrace
And amorously flood me with you,
As I shall fill you more in me
And breathe with you.

Come soonest, O dear wind, gently
With your moist chill to play over me.