Antheia

When spring blooms, the earth sighs

a breath that caresses the trees,

Heady as a rasp billowing from pleasured lips.

Their petals fall like so much colourful snow

Released from hands gone slack.

My lady is coming, sure as spring—

Watch how the world prepares to host her.

What fineries emerge from winter-weary slumber;

What jewels adorn the verdant landscape!

Yet even the silk of roses cannot compare to the luxury of her skin,

It is for the stroke of her fingertips they hunger.

The sun pales at the gold of her skin,

For true radiance is hers, not his.

Look how the flowers turn their heads towards her,

Hoping to drink themselves to excess on that glory,

Longing for just a drop of her beauty.

For the bright laugh from her lips the animals dance,

For desire of her the earth births itself anew.

Come revel in spring’s victory,

For my lady is coming,

And the whole world comes alive for her.