Your springtime is the brightness of new blossoms in your smile.
The air is fragrant with carnations, the sidewalks strewn with petals.
The grass, dew-dropped and green and fresh, bears the promise of love,
The incredible joy of rebirth in your infallible spirit.
The clasp of your hand is March wind up my arms and across my shoulder blades,
The fingernails raking through my hair individual April raindrops.
You bathe me in mild sunshine, a smirk bursting from the gray clouds of reserve.
I blush the way tulips and carnations do as you gently, tenderly kiss me,
Like soft rain dripping from my forehead, gushing from an unused jacket hood,
Like roots creeping from the earth to bloom in summertime,
When the exotic is hot like concrete under our feet.
Pure, unfettered decadence sweeps me off my feet
And into your gaze, a gaze that beckons me into the lapping ocean of your eyes.
My mind is an egg frying on the pavement,
Sizzling, popping in time with your touch.
My heart is too hot to beat, my blood slowly reaching a boil.
The grass cuts like your wit, the sunlight burns like your hands on my back.
We rise with the dawn only to collapse into the sunset,
And the adventure doesn't end until autumn,
When the slow fall of leaves dictates the tempo of our love,
When books lie lazily open on rustled sheets.
The scent of dying trees is thick in your hair, in your skin,
And I inhale without fear of choking on its intensity.
We watch sunsets painted gold and make love under the dusty pink of evening,
Your body mounting mine with the ginger push of wind and pumping with each gust.
I am both full and empty, like the numb of hot coffee on my hard palate.
You are fuller than the moon.
Winter comes, and you chill me to the bone.
You are harsh and tender, your whiplash a flickering flame and an icicle to the heart,
Both branding me with a zip mark in my skin.
I pant and plead for you to take me, your name falling off my tongue like snowflakes.
Bound with silk whiter than the ground outside I writhe,
I moan your praises into chestnut-scented air.
And after the snowfall, there is silence,
Half-naked kisses nestled in each other's arms,
Wool blankets trapping us into a deep slumber
To behold the melting snow and fresh grass of morning.
YOU ARE READING
Aphrodite
Poetry"There's a blaze of light in every word, it doesn't matter which you heard: the holy or the broken, 'Hallelujah.'"- Leonard Cohen The poems in this series center on two characters: I, the speaker, and You, the speaker's subject. I is not a specific...
