Summer

I wore shorts.

(Yes, I had my reasons)

Then nature reminded me,
Of the duality of her seasons.

I suppose,
Like me,
She has her reasons.

And I,
Much like her,
Romance in mediums.

Spring follows winter,
It’s nonnegotiable,
A thing of sequence.

Sometimes,
I have a grievance.
I long for sunbeams,
And their allegiance.

I guess I’m just impatient.

To me,
The frost,
Is imprisonment.

I want to run through forests,
With a blouse always unbuttoned.
I don’t want spring to hit me,
I want to be fucking bludgeoned.

I want my skin,
And sunshine,
To be accustomed.

I want it to be consistent,
Abundant,
And awakened.

I want it here with me,
Or at least,
Adjacent.

I would love such juxtaposition,
But that’s just my opinion.

The seasons,
They’re immovable,
But not indifferent.

It is an act of change,
The radical entropic weather,
Spring will emerge when ready,
And not a second sooner.

It’s just…
I love it when it’s warmer.

Spring is flirtatious,
Aloof,
And starting rumors.

Summer is in love,
And so a suitor.

Summer courts with wonders,
Clever banter,
And perfect humor.

I could live with them forever,
They’re dreamers,
Vegabonds,
And sinners.

Summer is for the wild,
And spring is for the dancers,
Autumn is for the colors,
And slumbers make the winters.

Still,
I’d like this weather,
Brought to a gentle simmer.

I want the dying winter,
Burned slowly,
Lovingly,
To cinders.

But for now,
I wait for her,
For Persephone and her splendor.

To bring the chill to melt,
To thaw,
And then to shatter.