I hate how I love basking in your warmth,

how your caress

sets my body on fire.

Your every touch burns

against my skin;

but I dare not stop you,

for ache is but a fleeting feeling.



It stings every time we kiss;

it hurts where your lips have been.

They burn my flesh,

leaving blisters in their stride.


all these scars are your doing.


I still remember the day you arrived;

the sky’s lifeless,

the air stale.

It was a long winter – cold and cruel.

How I prayed all season

for sunshine and bloom.



But it wasn’t the wind of the forthcoming Spring

that came on your arrival.

Yours was a breeze

far warmer and more intoxicating.

It’s an unexpected gift,

but welcomed, nonetheless –

the heat you emanated,

the Summer you gave.



Paradise is your embrace –

it reminds me of Winter evenings by the fireplace,

of how I used to sit and wait and dream

of all the Summers that had been

until the crackling fades,

until the fire withers.


But your fire –

it thrived by the day.


your light grew blinding, your warmth scorching.

And I’m afraid that in this afternoon,

as we embrace,

I’m the only one who’s burning.


Time and again, I tell myself

that the next time we make love,

I’ll be the one touching your chest,

I’ll be the one kissing your neck,

I’ll be the one pulling you into an embrace,

so I can make you feel the heat devouring my being

the same way you set my soul aflame.



But fear – it has always been my enemy;

I plunge into a sea of doubt and decay

as soon as you let go of me.

And I fear that once you see

even just a speck of the spark I keep,

you’d flee.


So I content myself with basking in your warmth.

I continue to dance in your flames

and mend the blisters when you are away.

And I’ll keep on going

and dancing

and weeping

even if your fire consumes me,

even if this infatuation burns me.



It’s a tragic story

how I opt to stay mum

so you could lay with me without guilt,

so I could buy me more time.

Oh, what I’d give for this Summer to last an eternity.



I’d sacrifice my body,

I’d trade my soul,

I’d do anything just to keep you one more season.

But our days are numbered –

this is the ugly truth.

Spring is almost upon us,

the melting ice serves as proof.


So in this afternoon

and all the afternoons you’re in town,

Touch me.

Kiss me.

Make love to me.

Leave me burnt and bleeding –

I will gladly savor every second of it.


By Springtime,

these wounds will heal.

And in every Summer that comes,

I will look at these scars

and reminisce your warmth.



I will always remember

that Summer came for me early in Winter,

and it was perfect.

You were perfect.




3 replies to “SUMMER CAME EARLY

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