Seasonal

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Your voice is cold, unfamiliar.

I want to push away, but you hold on, fixated,

determined to sink us as low as you can,

so withered and weak,

until you are the one small comfort left

in a world of bleak and hopeless white.

You are my winter.

 

The heat from your gaze is enough to thaw frozen earth

and through neglected soil, blossoms push up, splashing the world in their light.

I want to stand in that gaze indefinitely

but your stare deepens, attempting to memorize every line of me.

Vulnerable, naked, I turn away

but the electric green of your eyes has already ravaged me.

You are my spring.

 

You scorch me with your fingertips,

intense and passionate.

Your electricity shocks me speechless

and my heartbeat buzzes like the honeybee’s wings,

palms and brows sticky

as my organs liquefy under the pressure,

in the heat of your embrace.

You are my summer.

 

Envious green transforms suddenly.

A new palette paints the space between us,

and then fades and darkens, all vestiges of warmth slip away.

We are left alone, desperate,

Clinging to fiery memories.

Distracted by forbidden fruits, we move onward,

unprepared for the frost ahead.

You are my autumn,

my wild, weathered love.

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