Seasons of Love

Seasons of Love

You were Spring in April, you

stepped softly through

my dreams, softly

with promises, possibilities

dripped from your tongue.

You were like

a summer morning, raining

roses from an innocent

sky, taming

my hesitations, your touch

like silver dust on

moth wings.

You were the storm

in autumn, tearing

at the rags and bones

of old love, of waiting flesh,

seeking out

the hollow places

with your hungry tongue.

You are the raw edge of

a hooligan wind, keening

at my heart, stumbling

in the thin winter

light, stealing

dreams, claiming ownership

of a thing that

cannot be bartered

or bought.

I was the accidental

priestess kneeling

at your altar, my offerings

were lies, and you

stole from me

all the seasons of

my heart.

Edythe Anstey Hanen

November 13, 2009