You grow traces of hair on your back,
But to me they are normal, healthy sprigs of you.
Somehow my thorns are not enough to scare you off, either.

I touch your face,
Press my nude body to yours,
And kiss you sweetly on the cheek.

You have finally stopped trembling from the rush of before,
And here our limbs lazily lay,
On top of one another.
We are relieved and exhausted
By the night's pull on each other.

Opportunities like this blossom rarely,
So we take advantage.
Either I am in love with you,
Or you are in love with me,
Or we have recently failed to sow love with one person or another.
Why do we always come like this, together,
Only after stormy weather?

It was a chilly April this year,
And Spring's usual flowers bloomed and froze
From the cruel, icy sting of rejection.
But you; you offer protection.
I am not undesirable, and neither are you.

Before either one of us becomes too wrapped up in our shelter of
Sheets and frost cloth,
We remember nature's nonsense, the order of the food chain, and that
We are not to mate.
Our sensible brains tell us there will be other Aprils,
And that one April will be our last.
Eventually, your perfect species will appear,
As will mine,
And we will try to meditate
Only
On
The present.

See you next year, my annual bedroom comfort,
And may you find peace in your own kind.