SEASONS

The pale, scrawny body 

Is a fuselage of thread and bones.

Her departure
Is a fatal blow.
The veins devoid of the spunk,
Strength of the limbs consumed,
The loins barbed
And sucked to the last trace of stamina.
But the arteries
Still burn
To the possessions of secret nights.

Seasons pass;
The leaves
Change the color of the forest;
And the body
Bleeds in the deserted garage.

Cocooned
In the frost of the last kiss,
I resign.