Pleas to Aristaeus

Shoveling through December’s pass,
where beasts sleep,
the insects roam discreet,
climbing slow on death’s decor.

Show me life
amongst these braving trees,
destiny lies beneath their frozen feet,
futures bloom before the forest floor.

Inside this maiden’s locket,
green response to soiled demands,
blown by broken prophets
with empty hearts and thirsty hands.

Her tear drips colder than snow,
alone,
like a dove that missed migration.

Buzzing yellow blueprints,
nectar of desire,
climb from night
and see these eyes.

Subtle florals rise,
dressed in citrine shine.
Pour from your golden gaze
through her story’s spine.

Wash your light
into her shivering heart
as she breathes into barren air
a cloud of time.

Seed her waiting droplet.
Join the sulking salt
sipped from lips
that dam the cries of winter.

Drink