Seasons
Like seasons passing,
It starts off spring.
Butterflies in the stomach,
soft, gentle, cool.
Hinting at something
Lingering in the air.
A brush of hands,
still shy
as it forms.
Come summer,
Hot, bright, fiery.
Excitement gone
with the hot red thrill
taking over the gentle.
Heated kisses,
constant touching,
always present,
no space between,
even if they dare.
In comes fall,
Light wind, soft touches.
The sky lights
with new discoveries
as uncertainty simmers
honeymoons gone,
as the spark flies.
Winter brings the end,
Cold, angry, iced out.
Distance grows,
uncertainty gone,
dissatisfaction taking control.
This is not what we want...
It's not what we deserve...
This isn't what we're worth.
It ends in winter
unhappy
and long overdue.
Goodbyes pass
as they outgrow,
and everything once admirable,
becomes the source of irritation.
The final goodbye
that rolls the credits.
Copyright © Micheala Ruth September | Year Posted 2023
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