The bitter smell of winter

The bitter smell

Of poinsettias

My throat burns
And my fingers tingle,
My heart beats
And my lungs are clean.

Warm air washes over red skin
And the snow leaked in through my boots,
The dull aches of my bones win,
Collapsing me to the bed

Of daisies

Beauty once looked over
Is now seen with fertility's fervor,
As buds on tree limbs
Reveal their secrets-

In whispers to one another,
Deep desires are brought up
To their shallow realities
Where we kiss our secret

"Scarlet begonias"

Quilt the body littered beds
Of youth, knowledge and passion
And then the heat burns you
With the reality of life's pretentious season.

As the flora wail against the sun
Only to whither and wilt,
The best of them won't run
But few can be of the best when they have the red bed's guilt.

Wizened Iris

How it thrived and lived,
Now the older, now the calmer,
And slower she walks.
She walks, and the road smells of sweet autumn before

The bitter smell of winter.