Of Love and Seasons

When morning melts away the night
and sunshine streams across your face,
I am the spirit in that light.
I am the afterglow you taste.

A mirrored image in the glass,
an empty robe, two padding feet,
a feathered touch across your ass,
the scent that lingers in your sheet.

Through winter's frost I’ve kept you warm
and held your mouth unto my breast.
I’ve sheathed you from the raging storm
secure inside my balmy nest.

My powdered residue of snow
that coats your stem before the spring
will melt to raindrops as you grow
like budding flowers summer brings.

So, when at last your leaves mature,
your trunk is thick, your branches strong,
the shade you lay will be assured
to last me all the season long

From morning wood by end of May
through August’s saturating mist,
you’ll fill me up in every way
and seal my creases with a kiss.

You’ll plow me like the fertile soil
and fill my trenches with your seed.
We’ll grind and sweat. You’ll till and toil.
You’ll satisfy my every need.

But by the fall at summer’s end
September’s chill will seize your heart,
and as the yellow leaves descend,
the wind will wrench our love apart.

You’ll run aloft to greener fields.
You’ll plant your seeds in sweeter earth
where pounding perspiration yields
a snug resistance to your girth.

And I in memory will lie,
as virgin fleece gives way to pain,
a recollection’s lullaby.
You’ll split her seam and moan my name.