I want to celebrate the Spring.
In the Autumn I throw leaves in the air
thinking about the days growing shorter.
Now I celebrate the green sprouts coming up.
That is erotica at its best.
A body used for pleasure is a wonderful uprising.
Wheee, push through that soil and come out into the ether.
A pale green sprout comes from a hidden seed and then spills.
I am the mystery. You are the answers.
Love is natural. Man made love is an illusion.
Children sprout from our unions but not always.
When they do we celebrate them.
Spring is only part of the circle.
We have been in the death season.
I'm happy to emerge again, still alive.
Like Jesus from the dark tomb.
Energy swirls around us all.
Sometimes it gets squirted out.
That is Spring.