when winter thaws
and our delicate red noses
turn to gold
Again.
After years of solace
might you entreat a glance
from bewildered eyes
that sing songs of stolen years
and seasons past
and unrealized summers
ripe with ifs and
Suns,
and overgrown fields
to shield us from the world
and shiver in the wandering breeze
with that hands brush upon your
cheeks and long, summer arms
to whisk your hair about
in strained fits
to hearken lovers lips;
an entire tryst
In the ascendency of summer...