Spellbinding

He is hot,
as the morning tea from Mcdonald's,
like the sweltering sun to the snow bird
flying north.
And I am not.
Hush! Metaphors, enough!
And where's the rhyme?

As things are best said,
with truthfulness
or heartfelt lies,
thou are under a spell,
as intoxication under dusky sky,
as stars flickering in flighty lass's eyes.

The earth gives ground,
the moon a crimson brown,
thou are under a spell,
of stardust in bound.
Hush! Metaphors, enough!
And with that I take my bow.