Well Versed In The Weather

It is a lonely wind
I choose to follow.
Occasionally I catch in the boughs
Of a shapely maple or tapered pine,
But then,
The pressure changes,
I am released.
Coursing over the grasslands
I never long for the embrace
Of the greenery.
But enter the pine lot
And the intoxication of pitch and sap
Draws me to its bosom.
The sweet rhythm of vibrating needles
Brings me to the dance.
For a moment I'm caught
Sensations flow up my fingers
Reaching the orgasm of my mind.
Again,
Pressures change.
And I follow
A lonely wind..