Love is all seasons

Blinding smiles and festive lights

taut bodies strings of bass

legs drumming long into the rhythm;

spirits who no more whisper than they shout

the shameless peacocking of our surface

is how we start our seasons.


Hedonism measured in decamerons

as innocent as Alkyonides’ passing through

the most horrible final gasps of winter;

hybernating till resurrection

dealing with the us the we the I

is how we prepare for spring.


Colours revolt when buds explode

in Persephone’s gentle wake

and identity becomes a crucial matter;

surrendering choice to the insects

and laying numb under the shade

is how we enter summer.


Scorched by the sun the colours fade

and Persephone must be called Demeter.

Gather the crop, collect the fruit

dream versus reality must now reach a verdict;

sun–dazed no more, shadows drawn long

is how we start our autumn.


Sun-dried skins and wrinkled fruit

memory jars lined tightly on shelves

and bodies wrapped in blankets

of hopes like seed pressed deep into the earth

connecting life with dreams again

is how we reach our winter.


Then blinding smiles and festive lights

is how we start our seasons.



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