Seasonal // Poetry

seasonal

There’s a sense of frantic,
the first time.
Held in since the snow and
bursting now

like the rose buds. 

I guess love starts whenever
it makes sense.

Later, we slow
to the rhythm of the bluebells
and wild garlic,
who have all the time in the world,
at least until summer. 

By then, I’ll know
how to wrap my skin around yours
and we can grow together,

ears of corn in an autumn field.

Elodie Barnes
Elodie Barnes is a writer, reader and traveler, originally from the UK. Having tried her hand at a number of things across the globe, from legal secretary to yoga teacher, she’s now settled down (relatively speaking) somewhere between France, Spain and the UK and has decided on the job title of ‘wordsmith in training.’ “I’ve found that the more I write, the more important my identity as a woman becomes to me. Sexuality, sensuality, and the experiences of being a woman in the world today form the basis of a lot of my writing, both fiction and poetry.”

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