A good year.
When Pisces swam into Aquarius’
water, Annie and I bathed in bed
on windswept mornings; walked
in silent woods through Snowdrop
carpets on post coital afternoons.
By the time of Aries’ rut, ours was
cooling in the softness of April rain.
While Taurus adorned his horns
with Bluebell’s azure cloches, Trish
treated me to thirty days of Bacchus
nights, but as mornings dawned I saw
a perfect flower dying inside a glass.
Roses and Campion for Jeanette after
Gemini’s fickle days and solitary nights.
After the claws of the Crab yielded to
Leo’s summer roars, we shared lusty
beds until Libra’s leaves began to curl
and turn to gold, then the sting of Scorpio’s
early snows brought winter to our troth.
Chrysanthemum blooms fading under
Sagittarian sun brought a delicious taste
of youth and the short-lived days under
Tracy’s spell of inherited climaxes closed
a wild year with a gift of knowledge that
the time had come for me to love again.