Now It Is Winter When Trees Are Skeleton Poem by Gert Strydom

Now it is winter when trees are skeleton,
stripped bare and have no more leaves
as if they are lifeless
and the weather is grey as if

there’s only chill and sieving rain
with banks of covering fog
that cuts the sun and light,
into a cold pitiless world

and then you first past and come to me
with a yellow raincoat, your pants splashed wet
where you shake your hair out, like a dog does with rain
in a blizzard of spray, getting it out of your hair

and I know that our time is only burrowed
when you stretch against me, cuddly and slim, just you and me alone
and you are hot like a ray of light that unexpectedly comes down,
we are one in passion, in a moment

after which I remove the hairclips from your hair,
your eyes are gleaming like shining pieces of steel
and you are only mine, with soft lips and big eyes
and bliss descends between us.