Dee Moyza

My love, who smells of petrichor,
Brings, from the North, the cold
He comes riding on the thunder,
His kiss a lightning bolt

Lips chilled by months of solitude
Thaw fast against my own
Frost melts to quench and nourish
This parched heart I call my home

Hands roughened into leather
Glide like ice across my skin,
To douse, to quell, to satisfy
The wildfire within

He lies with me beneath the stars,
Embraced by Autumn’s chill,
To tend the fever in my blood,
Which races for him still

Amid soft sighs and whispered oaths,
I’m lost to his caress,
Which rouses deep inside of me
The bloom Spring will witness

For a season, then, I’m richly dressed,
In purple, orange, and gold,
And he revels in my splendor,
The wealth his love foretold

But changing winds drive him away,
Down-beaten by their heat
He leaves me with a stolen kiss
Until we next can meet

My blooms will fade and make retreat
Beneath the sun’s cruel burn,
To slumber deep within once more,
Awaiting his return

And so I, too, shall fall asleep,
Until he comes again,
To awaken my desire,
With the scent of autumn rain.