Seasons.

His voice is crisp,

A deep throaty rumble

Echoed through a glacial cavern

It nips at your ears

/close your eyes/

Feel the chill run down your spine

The icy puppeteer sighs against your neck

Tongue wraps around wrists,

Your body bends and sways

At his wintry mercy

When his cold lips touch yours

/melt/

His eyes are fervent,

When you see them for the first time

It is a wave of warmth

You are asleep under a weeping willow

And the sunlight dapples through

It washes over your body

His eyes hold yours, draw you in

For a moment every sound fades

Into the creek nestled amongst the juniper

It's all a distant blurry buzz

He is the spring

You, doting

Lashes flutter--

/fleeting/

His touch is electric,

Skin blisters under his fingertips

As if reaching for more,

Aching to be felt

You arch, drawn to the heat

Like a moth to a flame-

Searing, skin against skin

Sweat and steam,

It is sticky and messy and /hot/

You have been parched

After one touch, he leaves you feverish

Cheeks red,

/blazing/

His laugh is decadent,

A delicious amber breeze

You put your feet up, mug of hot tea

And lean into him

You can /hear/ his smile

Its brisk breeze-

Even leaves blush,

Their mouths curling up

At the sight of it

The trees, deciduous-

When it rains, the moonlight trickling down

Everything dims, but his grin glows

The life around him

/cascades/