What I remember is
Sweat on breath, wafts of hair,
Heaves on chest, eyes stare, bare.
Gnash on neck, glaciers on hearts,
Mascara specks, separated by worlds apart.
Culture demands, excuses to cheat,
Melted by heat of hands, auction your meat.
Sully and satiation, desires demands,
Heart devastation, ego’s commands.
Autumn Geisha, a season for mourn,
Sunflowers, freesia, never to be born.
Dried and withered, arid and dehydrated,
Black not red, ashes, cremated.
-W.E.
What she wanted, she got.
Ego fill, belly pot.
Foreign flesh, never forgot
Pungent stench, cheaters rot.
-W.E.
lonerloaner 
I can’t help but think you are making reference to The Tale of Genji:
“The world know it not; but you, Autumn, I confess it: your wind at night-fall stabs deep into my heart”
― Murasaki Shikibu, The Tale of Genji
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I wish I were that versed, unfortunately no. I’ll message you the tale inshallah.
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Please do.
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