She Wears Springtime

She wears springtime colors like Mother Earth does.

April showers glisten on her back from the oncoming heat.

Dew drips down her smile and just like that, I'm caught in her early morning spider's web.

Nesting in her flesh, I lean back in her curved arms that feel like inverted rainbows should ever a thing like rainbows have a feel.

I look up at her face. Her smile and highlighted hair remind me of the sun and horizon at dusk.

I fall deeper into her cocoon waiting for springtime love to bring forth butterflies.

I can't help but feel the newness of the moment like childbirth or indecent exploration or landing in a previously unvisited country.

Or like a brand new thought. She remains half naked because her dress, made of springtime flowers, has yet to bloom fully. And yet beauty never felt so raw, so real.

Our hearts beat in tandem like the sun's rays on the Earth as I think of something random:

What if this is it?

What if I have found the one?

No more seasons change. . .in my love life. She will forever be my springtime all year round. The thought consumes me like the aromatic springtime air. I, you, we are there.

And just like that, I am wearing her.