Art by Ian MacDonald

The Spring Of My Life

The dead leaves fall
at my feet –
has spring arrived?
Perhaps,
for I felt its ecstatic warmth
when You brought your face
nearer to mine, saying:
isn’t this day a warm one?

A warm one, indeed.

Winter now only gets to touch me
at night when the Sun is not around anymore,
is gone to slumber with its sunshine and warmth,
or to say,
winter now only gets to touch me
when You are not around.

Your absence does not feel overwhelming.
But my senses suffer a little as they seek your presense
in everything they touch,
see,
feel,
hear,
or observe.

I can tame my senses,
a little whiskey mixed with two cubes of ice
in a transparent glass shall just do the needful.

And the next time I see You,
I shall,
perhaps,
ask my senses –
urge them –
to not engulf themselves with You;
that done,
the day shall pass
and another evening will arrive –
a particularly cold one –
where I convince myself that
I still have not fallen in love with You.

***

Art by Ian MacDonald

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