The Summer/Winter Affair

by Renwick Berchild

I kiss the summer, her gold neck
hung as a crescent in my hand. But

I am false; when night descends,
I dream of winter and her snowy bends.

I walk with summer by the sea,
touch her pale lily, brush her full leaf;

but night lays the cloak, and I dream
of bitter winter, her cold, her bareness,

her frostbitten, chilly lips masticating,
stealing all the breath from me.

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