My mistress garbs herself in white
"D'hiver," she whispers in the night
Her breath clings and bites my tongue-
Her touch freezes e'en the sun.
My mistress, cold and despondent
"Warm me," she says, so innocent
Icy temperament and vice:
Icy temperatures and nights.
Born to autumn, dead in spring,
I still remember winds that sting
My face, scarred with little cuts
Torn by her beloved touch.
Top 10 New Rap Albums for June
10 years ago
