Seasoning

Seasoning

My eyes are rehearsing

for when the winter solstice ends.

As the light wanes I see

what I thought was reluctance covering

my face.  I want to expand

every moment into an emotional chemistry

that includes the smell and texture of

every lover I’ve had.

But the solstice is ending,

old recalled lovers who look

like glasswing butterflies

stretched across other summers

find the pot of gold at the end

of my rainbow.