Tell Me I Am Your Only Spring Poem by Dr. Charles A Stone

that my breath, warm against your breasts,
fires anew the passion chilled by winter storms,
calling forth fields of melted buttercups
in which to lie beneath a warming sun.

There, in the heart beat of idle summer days,
to consummate a love traced by fingertips
across flesh rippling with desire
and moistened by anticipation.

There, in autumn's languid reaching,
to feast upon the rosy petals of what
might have been had we met in another life,
free of the heavy furs of your obligations to him.