December

You’re standing right beside me,
though you’re so far away.
I inhale your essence
the seasons begin to change.

Though you’re so far away,
I feel you near.
Helpless, I wither into the memory of you.
The harsh winds blow
the warmth of you still lingers.

I feel you near.
The fever of our passion remains,
a dry heat left behind
until the wind returns,
and I count the days until you’re here.

The fever of our passion continues,
exhaling deep sighs of compassion
a mere wick igniting the sun before it snows.
Simply sitting.
Waiting.

I inhale your essence,
though you’re far away.
You’re standing beside me,
feeling this feverish chill.
Existing until the next go around
until next November.