Seasons (1994)

Summer’s heated passion lingers over,
Among sweat soaked sheets, like Past –
All alone. Could it have been better?
Shriveled residue like a shrunken raisin,
Awaiting morning dew to fill and cry.
So light is the air, it cares not to caress,
As in winter’s cold, wrapped and fondled.
Spring and Autumn – awaited lovers:
To break the fidelity to lonely extremes.