Nature Falls In Love

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In Springtime,

all of nature

falls in love.

 

The air is wet

with arousal,

fragrant with pollen

and the scent

of raw need.

 

In springtime,

our bodies ache towards each other

like the First Man

and First Woman did,

the first time they made love,

when the heavens opened up

and the gods applauded like thunder

and a million flowers took latin names

and carved their shapes

out of the green pith

of possibility,

blossoming into a full rainbow

of lurid colors.

 

In springtime,

clouds cry their heavy tears

that seep into the land,

feeding plants, nourishing roots,

shaking off the sadness of death

that winter brings.

 

The Earth opens

like a mouth

to receive

the Sun’s kiss.

 

Love shines.

Springtime/Astarte

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I know I am surprising sometimes,

in my rawness,

in my nakedness,

in how I feel tonight,

soft skin smooth and moist

rubbing between my thighs,

no panties

beneath my skirt.

Tickled and tasted

by the air.

 

I am the bees in springtime,

gathering nectar,

making honey.

 

From the fertile center

of myself,

pleasure buds

like flowers do from bulbs,

sensual and fragrant,

ethereal.

 

I was named

for a pagan goddess,

a woman

who’s body’s ecstasy

was a special kind of worship.

 

Like Easter:

I come

in the springtime.