A twinkle. A spark in the brown of an eye. More lovely than the warmth of a mother's breast. More hope lays in you, than in any lover's love.

You tease, a nervous twitch. A tender warm lick. Then sloooow, to a flick of a lispy tongue. A plume of greyed breath rises to the occasion. It tickles my nose. You twist and twirl like a pole dancer. Impressive, with a rustic charm.

You curl a pointy finger, to coax me closer. The darkness fears your birth. This is our night. ‘Lux nostra’.

Resonant is your autumnal call to hibernation. Hushed, a rush of whispers plea, as you wrap around my wanton winter belly. My paunch feels you first. We resist spooning, as the hearth contains you.

You cackled away those other charmers. Only your harmonies, your licks, your high hat, can strike a chord now. I turn my back. A Resistor, for a short while.

You pester. You psst me. Pssssst. Mesmerising, like a snake charmer’s tale. Blowing a light wind, in the face of intensity. I gaze at your goldenness, and caress your flaxen curves with a stare I share with no one else but you. I am ignited.

I feed you paraffin wax and Aspen timber to quench your passion. You bellow and beat your chest like a 'Gorilla in the Mist'. You take charge and come for me. Showered in the sweat of your brow, I bow. You release a Spartan war cry and fire-up my inward parts.

Stroke me, I stoke you. 'All for Sparta!' With you, hot to the end.

When you are gone, I mourn your vigour.

"Remember to put it out when you come to bed Cindy! The baking soda is in the cupboard to your left!"