The Snow Girl

In the harsh depths of winter, I can learn
Within me lies a summer, which cannot
Be beaten; though, I can choose when to turn
Myself across a desk to feel the hot,
Faux flush of shame; or is it joyful pride?
I show intimate views: each one commends
Itself to counter snowy chills: inside
Sun-infused lust, his tuition extends
To usage, through the final, dying days
Of this cold year: they'll heat the man who'll sense
This snow girl's here for pleasure; and the ways
I may have learned will, perhaps, recompense
The one who deserves all - my tears are swept
By fulsome fillings to seasonal depths.