December Fever Poem by April Lane

Dearest December is sick
Another sleepless night begins 
Orion reposing in the sky 
At an awkward angle stretched
Shifts uneasily in seek of comfort
Restless and feverish he groans 
Reaches for his beloved Diana 
But she is changed, yellow and languid
Damp from the same night sweat 
That dims the black velvet mantle
On which he pines
She trains her weak gaze 
Through the dank darkened street

An odor lingers in the air
Of sweet perfume and slow decay mixed
November's moist detritus strewn about
Sprouts anew in the unaccustomed heat
Untimely flowers sprout for sudden death
Like a consumptive wretch given false hope
Springing up in bed with flushed cheeks
Clings to life with unearthly vigor
For one desperate gasping moment
Before the vision fades and sprit fails
A perfect dream
One last sweet breath tainted with death
And that greatest cold sets in

So December exhales a strange miasma
Like flavored liquor from tropical climes
Stored too long in the bottle
Takes on a flavor of paint or varnish
Beneath a thin mask of fruit and spice 
Clumsily fabricated holiday 
Sweet chemicals
Hyperventilating in the warm mist
I'm giddy and I want to retch

Wipe away the dirty film from the glass
Let vision clear in crystal cold
And icicles hang from whitened stars
Let Diana wear a crown of frost
On milky brow, clear of fever and grime
And let all the creeping forms of dark
The gnawing beasts that feed on my decay
Restless shadows, ghouls and clawing hands
Be frozen forever beneath a shroud of white
And breathe no more
A cleaning numbing disinfecting snow
Wrapped around my sick December