| Summer The seasons follow each other methodically, like dancers. They constantly vie for position, around and around again, each for the allotted time. It's summer's turn. Summer is edgy and lazy and lanky. Summer wants me to stretch out into the grass, into its arms, wake up with the burning sun's zenith, and follow it into the short, spicy night. Summer loves me interspective and desperate and exhausted from pondering and probing my existence, and I, in my willingness to please, crave that state and seek after it. In this, my twenty-eighth solstice, I review all the others of significance, just as I do every time around. Summer is feeling its age, is tightening its grip demanding a watermark of me. Oh, just calm down, Summer. You are indeed a beautiful entity, as sylph. I cannot resist. I know you have nothing to gift me with but, in time more memories, but ok, let's begin the rites. I've already memorized your steps, and I follow the rhythm and changes through you twilight. Since I reached womanhood, summer has been coming to me as a lover hiding a knife behind his back, who I mate with like an animal with the blade to my throat. I bear the spawn, which is always next Summer. PamEhli/1998 |
|
| Since 1-20-03 |