I have poems in my fridge for the summer
Icy cold crisp with bright biting wit
bubbling nuances, steamy back lit
citrus sharp, striking and fit
As sweat beads down my back,
I have poems for that.
I have poems in my freezer for the fall
waiting for the thaw, hearty stock meaty raw
bright pops of green,
frozen solidly on baby dreams
As I watch the brown curls zig zag down,
I have poems for that sound
I have poems for the winter months.
Wrapped in stained muslin, solid fat
Scented pine stanzas, red wine dances
Slosh lush memory filled soups
as the heater sucks dry my skin,
I have poems that deep in.
In my crisper, spring unreal green dream poems
Rays of flight, hopes height, lighter nights
scented warm winds, floral novelette swims
quicker pulse forest assaults
And the bird that once was deformed,
sings into my cage.
I have a poem for those very days