September reminds me of my mortality:
every year, it begins again.

When the Winter months come, I huddle down, ready:
come the gloom, come the solitude--
we wait, we convalesce,

I alone protrude
into some darkness, that
"certain kind of sadness"
to which we've all become addicted;

Call me crazy, call me a loon,
but
all I want is you.
All I want is your joy,
your cavorting, thrott'ling

seizures of metered, allotted
reverence, complacency; your
sanctuary of arms and loving embraces

(understanding)

:

taut, toned, muscled finely and with
purpose,
portent,
and all things manly
(all things sane and clean and lovely)

:

I want to be resolute.
Please love me for a moment

(or two).