You can’t deny the truth: you’re sexier
in every way than Summer. She tries
so hard with the glistening and the booty
shorts but you found this way
to tempt me, to lure me in with coziness
and sweaters. As soon as I saw the cypress trees
fading brown I knew you were here,
my favorite lady. You rode in in the eye
of a hurricane, not a hair out of place. You make
me want to make love to you on a faux fur rug
in front of a crackling fire with the windows
open. You make me want to sprinkle
pumpkin spice all over my face
and have you lick it off with your
chilled tongue. Tie me up with a red
fuzzy scarf and make me watch
you pole dance on lovebugs’
dead bodies. Let us look up and see
old snowbirds peeping through the windows
at our lovemaking. Let me love you in the orange
glow of a thousand fake fireplaces. Let me miss
you when the lights go up
and you’re too cold to go on.
We don’t have much time before Winter
clocks us both with an ice cold punch;
until then, let’s make her watch.