written by Melinda Pillsbury-Foster

The Flavors of Reality

The languid mood of winter, releasing me from fear
Excites the premonitions that excises hope most dear.
I do not trust your fervor and I doubt that love is real.
Your eyes look past my needing, and glint with tones of steel.

My skin remembers passion; my mind reproves my need
The eloquence excepting, releasing me to grieve.
For trust is never useful in relationships of love
The needing and the seeking makes squabs of every dove.

I’ve felt your fingers fondle me in mind and bodied place
I’ve steeped myself in passion and extolled your every grace
In mind our lovings happened while in truth its my disgrace
Behind the shield of inference, we never did embrace.

I’ve loved an age in waiting and I’ve known your lips as mine
But in the clutch of winter I’ve found you less than kind.
Because I want that closeness I step back and then I sneer.
Passions cup is waning and every day less dear.

I love the patterned thinking that traces mind in you
But I doubt its couraged content having found you less than true.