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 458 times
Written on 2013-01-11 at 17:41

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text


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