Climax of the Winter Sun

From uncouth caterwauls of coital delight

in the asexual day of pornographic night,

ever so erotically, the vixens of dawn

apprise me Jack Frost has been and gone.

Hence, out the depths of spayed torpor 

within a castrated Antarctic den,

my libido erects celibate again,

and the chastity belt ejaculates, 

amen.