The Weather House

And Again
Praise these May moments
when trees dress delicately,
green as peridot.
I'll be the arbour
hung with cherry blossom,
nectar for your bees.
You shall be the spine
that supports this ecstasy;
sweet is the stamen.
My lust is for growth
run riot in every peak,
most of all yours.
Stepping out to me
over the blush of petals
I pluck you again
and again.