A verdant vase on the casement
Screams SPRING in long-
Winded crocus breaths. Relentlessly,
A bee hurls itself against the mesh
Screen with mounting celerity.
Fingers cramped around a pen,
I am determined to write
Admirably, just once, of love,
But I am like my droning friend.
At the sound of moaning, my ears perk
Up to experience vicarious pleasures.
At closer inspection, I must laugh.
It is only doves discussing the merits
Of hedonism and days drenched in brilliance.
Somehow—the specifics escape me
—April heat has managed to accomplish
In one pellucid afternoon
What an even-yeared merlot and sex
Could not patch together all winter:
I am, once again, my usual,
Sensual self. I have never been
hesitant To confess I have fallen in love.
But as I listen to the angry thuds
Of one desperate to drink nectar
(I sit straight upon my spine;
A febrile gust chills my skin.)
I know I must command
From lovers what I demand
Of myself. I can accept no less.
