June's first sonnet

I may write another (I never know), but here's a sonnet for June.

Metaphor for

As alabaster stallions gallop through
a set of wind-whipped waves which break
upon a Gallic beach; as geese-flocks flew
en masse to greet the dawn; as islands quake
when magma bursts the bounds of ground in waves
of molten splendor; those are my intense
associations as I sense the slaves
to passion rising -- vital perfect sense
when onrush captivates and dominates,
enchained to rhythm and to pleasure, or-
dered to ascension, forced to be in states
of necessary thralldom as their store
of treasure is awarded to my mate
until my waves recede and tides abate.