At exactly the moment the clock struck eleven, the moment
The fierce northern wind went away, and the chill in the air
Subsequently diminished, seeming to soar from somewhere
Below zero to somewhere above, my reduced inhibitions,
Eroded by rounds of tequila and Scotch, ceased to keep me
From telling her what had disturbed me for almost a year:
She was fatally lovely, and she, rather more in command
Of her faculties, blushed. She retreated, and, when we
Next met, she was cool to the point at which I felt almost
As if that frigid wind had returned.