no one here imagines spring

no one here imagines spring
until the mind has stretched
itself out and bulges with the
weight of dry air and clothing

the cafes fill out with
lonely and addiction
not so much to drink, but
to heat, the way wine plunges
over lips and rolls itself out
into the waiting belly of lust,
the first glass streaking though
body, pulling the muscles tight

as the mind loosens like a wave
shrill over sand until,
at the peak of excess,
you are pulled indefinitely in

and so it goes, january thaw here
but no one imagines spring