Spring’s beautiful down south
but brash and sudden.
Up north she tiptoes up
and peeks through the window
then timidly taps on the door to see if she’s welcome
(still easily intimidated by winter)
before settling down for a spell.
When spring arrives in Maine
we cautiously peel off our outer garments
like the petals of an artichoke braised and well seasoned
savoring each discarded layer
until we reach the delicious, tender heart
and discover once more
we’re not just a pile of animate clothes
but bodies,
sensuous, delectable, playful bodies
full of trembles, shudders and precious sighs.
Down south
it’s jackets to tee shirts overnight;
no luscious dropping of winter clothes
one by one
into seductive piles on the floor,
no ******* gasp
as the first warm breeze gently caresses bare skin,
scarce any renewal.
But then,
subtlety has never been
a southern trait.