I’m revisiting old writing today. I’m digging into the treasures from the past to pull them out again. Revising, refreshing. And submitting them for publication. It’s time to write again.
Season of infatuation
For someone I used to love
For the past
You had me in my springtime
And I don’t think I can ever get over that.
I was new buds and morning mist.
You were clumsy and I loved you for it,
Smelling of pine pitch and musk.
We spent hours,
lips on lips
Bare skin swollen pink,
the marks of raw kisses.
There was never enough time
and always enough pulse-racing hot touches
bursting through the black earth ground
where you laid me down
like you knew what you were doing.
We were always new to each other.
We talked about marrying young and living in your family’s house.
But Summer came, and the dewy mist disappeared.
While our dreams started to die, our bodies collided and exploded.
We thought we could handle it.
Inevitable winter settled in,
and as my family fell apart, so did our young love.
The green in me died to brown,
Retracting into the earth
Where I lie
Waiting for another Spring.
Katie Crommett, 2018