When last I held her grace in my vision,
Downcast, I was watching her leave.
There was nothing to stop her,
The wind blew at her back,
Pushing her with an urgency.
Knowing her name the sunset called,
Calling to her hotly, beckoning.
The birds had ceased their singing
In sadness their quiet a silent protest.
Each breath I took was painful,
Searing air I did not want or need.
The dead do not need to breathe,
My soulless corpus a stone vessel.
I knew she would return someday,
Gently at first, budding with life.
Yet every cell of my being aches.
Desiring her soft sensuous touch,
The feel of her kiss a warm breeze.
For now I can only wait and dream,
Longing for that one moment in time,
Knowing from her approaching smell,
Her perfume the fragrance of April showers,
My heart quivers with anticipation.
She is my salvation, my reason to live,
She is the moment that gives me hope.
As the buzzing of a bee hive come to life,
There is a delicious yearning in my loins,
To thrust deep into her fertile thighs,
Planting my seeds binding her to me.
I long to wallow in her musky glory,
To soak every essence of it into me,
Melding, to remember the joy found in her.
Captive to her charms I long for her,
An urge given to all living creatures,
The gift of birth, of living, of existence.
Winter’s chill has suspended all elation.
With no bounty, gray skies are cold bosoms,
Yet life crawls toward the dawn each day.
I am stranded in the time of her departing.
So, together, Nature and I await her return,
That golden moment of Spring’s blushed caress.
Copyright: 2009, Donald Harbour
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Donald Harbour Poetry 