When May comes, with Beltane’s
heat wrapped around her hips, I weave primavera ribbons into every dark. My
all—flesh, bone, the womanliest curves of my soul—taste the silk flirting
inside my heart, curling towards my thighs, kissing soil that dances with my
The taps and twists of my soles
chant a song of getting and of giving, of sex and loving creating ecstasy, of
quickening of flesh and dirt, of the natural need to feel and morph and become
Come for me, May. Dance my will
wild. Let me love you for multiple whiles. Touch me with what spring hides from
summer, warm me up until autumn daydreams of slipping into winter.
the Maypole in bloom,
spring teasing out desires
from all living things
photo by Jan Kopřiva, on Unsplash
- for Poets and Storytellers United--Writers’ Pantry 68: Get Caught Reading Some Short Stories!