Patches of burgundy amidst skeletal maples
Rustling and rocking to the fall mistrals

The moon pries from her heavenly perch
At a lass sitting outside an archaic church

The night juvenile sprouting of desire
For her heart is a lantern kindled by fire

She sits on a bench amidst carpets of foliage
The rouge of her lips silent yearning for her stage

A reclusive hideout nestled on holy soil
Amidst the prowling eyes as tombstones toil

Her soul a mustang tempestuous and bold
Her heart a bonfire flagrant amidst the perpetuating cold

She walks with a compass fixed to her meridian
To the true north of a prince with portals obsidian

She could see his hearth through the lucid glass
Of a noble soul enamored with his only lass

She stood still like a seed waiting for the advent of spring
To germinate a love as perfect as a ring

The night flustered as footsteps were nigh
As a boy appeared from the shadows nearby

As sprightly moonbeams prostrated to the call of gravity
Her succulent chambers were embellished with charity

A kiss lingered on, four lips in a mushy clasp
As nostrils searched for vitality, naked and agasp

As on a lonely churchyard by a maple forest
Two robes disheveled to unfold a love in her rarest