The feel of sunshine
burning up my blackish hair
is the sensation
of perpetual Summer,

and the smell
of fresh rain on concrete?
Well, it’s the scent
of perpetual Spring.

They say we’re a cold breed,
those who hate the
changes that come
with each new season.

But when the world freezes
over, so do I inside
and all I can do
is contemplate death-

I imagine it’s warmer
because at least-
so they say-
a mighty fire burns there.