Literally Literary
Published in

Literally Literary

Phases, Season Changes

Image from Pixabay.

He is, as every man is,
A son of earthly history.
And she is as every daughter —
A crescent moon,
A smile on its side.
She is essential to everything else,
Though suspended in the dark canopy.
Soon they’ll take their sides,
His Earth and her Tides,
Agreeing to disagree.

Her first memory is far away,
It’s as far as eyes reach down the road,
It sleeps not soundly on the sea floor.
Do you remember when winter
Began in December and
Not a day before?

But, here, weather patterns turn like
A virgin mind on cheap wine —
Lying on her side,
She smiled reflecting the
Feeble (but present!) glow of
That pale, pale sun.

His face is shown, but his heat is
Too weak to blanket the Earth —
She has a feeling that this
Is concerning something
She has slept through,
Maybe a lecture on orbits,
Gravitations, and the change in seasons.
Though, to her, these explanations had no use —
If it is change you want to see,
Just look at me…
And he did, often.
An eclipse was never rare.

So, January descends
And in his hands he
Gently cradles a face
So full now and cold from
The winter’s chilling bite,
It’s such a nice night
She may say in an alluring way-
I know, stumbling on words,
It’s amazing,
I was just about to say…

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