Wednesday, March 3, 2010

A lesson for boys

For some
love is a rose
as heady as youth.
A perfume from summer's nights
spilled onto sheets and burning skin.

For me love is an apple,
lipstick red -
familiar and knowing,
warmed by autumn's last rays
to shocking sweetness.

As winter falls, wet and dark,
the roses stand leafless:
barbed wire remarks;
empty as memory's bed.

And that is when
the applesweet kiss,
hotter than custard
on a rainy night,
turns your heart
to Strudel.