We give ourselves to these things

The magic of the tender bud about to blossom,
The magnificent flower in her full and glorious bloom,
The changing colours of weathered leaves in
the arms of fall..

We give ourselves to these  things which speak to us in metaphor and song
absorbing their quiet language in the dead of winter
and rejoicing when spring is in the air
Beckoning to sing her heart out for those who will listen..

We give ourselves to these things
when we make up with the elementals,
and disavow ourselves
of most, but not all things human,
And when we no longer look for meaning in another, or even ourselves.

We give ourselves to these things,
awakening to the call of the wild, naked in her truth,
when there is no longer the small
me.

poets break all the rules

Most days I carry you
deep in the cradle of my mind,
or tightly wound up in my flesh.

You,
my preferred escape,
my perfect getaway,
my drug of choice.

Guilty for using you
without your consent.
-
but without your collusion,
this fantasy
won't subside.

you are bound to me
by the silky glue of love..
and one of these days
I will likely come undone
with just one brazen kiss
from your flawless lips.