february

same as january. keep in mind this is rather old.

In February you dipped your hand in lavender shadow
And dragged gentle fingers across the yellow grass clipped short
While wet hair slapped my eyes.
I saw the narcissus bear spear like leaves
Marching to your drumming fingers on the dry red dirt.
It nodded keeping time.
I looked into your five-o-clock sun, orange gold and round as my mouth
There I felt an ember glow of fall long past
But interpreted it as promise.

Promise me the half summer moon
The warm evenings with lemonade and music out a screened window.
And by it I will wait, though it is February
And the lattice casts its shadow on the floor
And the cold air rattles home in restlessness.
By my window and the gold, gold sun I will wait
For your return, my beloved,
And your endless days of ripe wheat amber standing.
Then, my love, I will hold you close like another coat, sharing sleeves
And will feel the touch of your rough fingertips on my smooth jawbone.
Then, though the night be cold and the sun and lavender shadows fading
I will not feel the sharp sting of my wet hair for happiness.