Winter night, cold and clear,
pallid moon, a shining sphere,
colder than a witch’s tit,
exposed outside its black brassiere.
The stars were bright, their frozen light
illuminated the winter night,
a harsh mistress, they call the moon
that chills the world all bathed in white.
The snow that put the land to rest,
the cold white skin upon the breast,
it glowed a spectral incantation
of pure allurement stark undressed.
The naked witch, her hair undone,
her icy tit where hoar frost clung,
she beckoned me with siren song
to taste her with my eager tongue.
I placed my lips upon that tit,
that crystal goblet cut so fine,
beneath the moon we were floodlit
as tender tongue became frostbit.
Once stuck, I dared not pull away
from whence temptation held me tight
and so I froze in clasp risqué
before the rising of the day.