- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The Awakening
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I stood beneath a cypress tree
winding my gold strands mindlessly
when a low roar grumbling at my back
prickled the hairs upon my neck.
I knew before I looked: the wind,
pummeling me from all directions,
was a charging bull enraged
by the glint of iridescent white
clumped from last week's blizzard.
I was wholly assuaged
by his hot steam pipe breath
as he stampeded through.
One last stop to melt away all remnants
of his detested winter enemy.
Stunned as I was by the sudden switch
from the dreary, frozen March,
I admired the ferocity with which
this beast overran his terrain.
In just minutes there would be no ice.
In minutes I'd face a golden empire,
brass-like and reflecting the sunlight.
I call this raging bull my savior from frost bite
and my stifling seasonal hibernation.
I am ready to be awakened
by an anticipated transformation.
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