Seasonal

Love makes me sad,
I don't really want the kisses
or the tokens, perhaps
it is a seasonal thing.

When I take time out
to analyse, I am aware
that the squishyness of it
leaves the bud of
a rose unborn in my belly.

I do seek the warmth,
an old friend who has
crossed my path again,
he wraps me in hugs
but I am aware of
a certain froideur,

I recoil, I don't want touch,
there has been too much,
I have a reticent soul,
yet, when the mood is right
I can fight tooth and claw,
There is passion in me

Perhaps it is a seasonal thing.




Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 470 times
Written on 2013-01-11 at 17:41

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Could be seasonal, those cold hands. Most likely, it's the mood. They take time to develop. Nicely written, Elle.
2013-01-13


countryfog
It's that knowing "when the mood is right" that generally confounds us men, and we rarely figure it out. Maybe for us it's more a sensitivity thing. I like this a lot, it seems unconditionally honest and says what so often men are left to intuit.
2013-01-11



I read a poem recently, a can't remember where I read it or who it was by, but it said, 'Love is . . . sadness.' I didn't understand it, but this, your poem, makes sense, I do understand this.
2013-01-11