The Door Into Summer II

Would you pick door number one?
Would you choose love that scalds,
a love that quickens, sears, and sanctifies?

The option is ours to flirt,
to skirt the margins of that amatory fire,
the price that may not be right.
Door number two is still spring.
That door is closing fast.

Some words bury the needle.
One touch could mean too much,
too much, too deep and sweet for us,
Whose hearts are spread so thin.

I made a bouquet of all my qualms.
I left it there, be-ribboned, in a basin.
We'll make the summer ours.