Seasoning

What am I ready to lose in this advancing summer?
As the days that seemed long
grow shorter and shorter
I want to chew up time
until every moment expands
in an emotional mathematic
that includes the smell and texture
of every similar instant since I was born.

But the solstice is passing
my mouth stumbles
crammed with cribsheets and flowers
dimestore photographs
of loving in stages
choked by flinty nuggets of old friends
undigested enemies
preserved sweet and foul in their lack
of exposure to sunlight.
Thundereggs of myself
ossify in the buttonholes
of old recalled lovers
who all look like rainbows
stretching across other summers
to the pot of gold
behind my own eyes.

As the light wanes
I see
what I thought I was anxious to surrender
I am only willing to lend
and reluctance covers my face
as I glue up my lips with the promise
of coming winter.