By Alexi Venice-
How romantic was the Blood Moon that endured an eclipse over Europe while allowing North America to enjoy her plump fullness? A sultry summer moon invites hot summer poetry.
I know this guy who loves to write poetry and happily writes poems for the character Dr. Jen Dawson in my San Francisco Mystery Series. I sometimes edit the poems to fit a particular scene, but I mostly use them in their virginal form.
At the risk of being called a “poem defiler,” I added a few twists and turns to the below, which appears in the 5th book–to be released in September. (Title under wraps for now.)
Since the poem is so hot, I had to share it with you on a hot summer night. Feel free to read it aloud to your one-and-only on the porch swing tonight.
Seasons of Love
An intense feeling of deep affection. Verging at times toward affliction. So vast an expanse evading true meaning, revealing a tender heart bleeding. Is this love or am I dreaming? At what temperature am I feeling?
The smell of Spring. The thawing Earth opening herself to the sun. Moist, warm and flower-scented, a rebirth emerging.
A secure, soothing hug. Your smooth skin caressing my libidinous thoughts. Holding hands, collecting emotions, touching hearts. A calm silence of trust. A heartbeat heard. Love’s promising songs of the soul.
Yield to Summer’s heat. Intensely damp and penetrating, extending into blood moon nights. Fruits ripening to their tender sweetness. Bursting with lust, nature’s sexual season.
Your scent drawing me into an eternal bond. Your hair, your sweat, the bed we share. Rested and adoring. Air musky and satisfied. Greeting each other in the dewy morning.
A chill accompanies Fall’s cacophony of color. Harvesting the bounty of Spring’s conception. Bundled and trundled before the wood stove. A hearth glowing.
Familiarity cooked into a shared meal. Lips grazing ear lobes and legs. Infinite flavor. The truth of your soul sprinkled with the salt of your skin.
Alas, comes winter’s dark isolation. Hibernating in wool cocoons, two in each chrysalis. A confined intimacy, warming the heart’s cockles, so recently migrating from a mollusk.
The longing in your eyes. To see your face and experience your emotions. To gaze at the past. To see the future. To look into your soul. Visions of love decorated with tears and smiles.
My lover’s face, slightly askew, saying ‘I truly love you.’ To invite me into your heart while never saying goodbye. Do I know your sexy mind and rhyme-filled reason? Maybe with a loving touch in every season.
For what is a season without you?
Secret Author & Alexi Venice