Posted Monday, November 29th, 2004
Love Becomes You in the Fall
Weíre easily teased by seasons and their vigor,
whose pique would leave us scratching in delight.
But with the itch of ink and blood receding,
the scab of reason leads us back to night.
The mood, I think, is done for frantic pleading,
and so, I ask, why stay or stop at all?
The truth, my darling, letís accept:
that love the heady pace of it becomes you in the fall.
The spring requires no imagination,
while summer hangs indifferent in the breeze.
And if, in winter, you throw off the covers
since quilts (all unpaid lovers) canít quite please
that leaves one season ripe for rumination.
Would you deny us just to skew it all?
A wrong, my dear, letís now redress,
for love the curious grace of it becomes you in the fall.
A slipshod youth enamored of provocation
despises ocean, laughs at simple sand.
And so, the weightless end is sheer amusement:
to wander out to sea or die on land.
But with the years come fears of isolation.
Would you eschew us to escape it all?
The dread, my darling, letís admit:
that love the weathered face of it becomes you in the fall.
Till now, youíve never wanted for affection
as ties restored the earthly to ďdelightĒ
and bliss rekindled animal addiction
to that sweet pain that pulled you left and right
into the arms of odd and sordid lovers.
Would you now drop us to pursue it all?
Your sin (enchanting!) letís confess:
that love the ardent chase of it still haunts you in the fall.
Comments [post a comment]
Posted by Katrina Denza on Tuesday, November 30th, 2004 at 8:39 AM
Posted by Alla Michelle Watson on Tuesday, November 30th, 2004 at 11:34 AM
Russell, this is great: imaginative, passionate, articulate, with a touch of resolute poignancy. Too bad there are only four seasons.
Posted by sue miller [ firstname.lastname@example.org
] on Tuesday, December 21st, 2004 at 10:43 AM
nice to see this, Russell. I love the rhythm this employs.