Seasons

"I promise, if I
Were to desert you,
The thirst that lurks deep
Within my skin would
Forever ache from
Impatient gestures
And crude fixations."

What a woman! Whom
does she account for?
Manipulative,
quite indecisive.
Upholding posture,
grace. She forgets what
it is like to climb
on hands and knees -- for
furtive desires.

I close myself off:
the little child
whom craves adventure.
Dawdle until I
lose myself, drifting
under boundaries,
through tall, thorned bushes.
Fearing the woman
whom chases without
stopping. Tis a year
Until I become a
Creature like her: an
Epitome of life
The future shows me.