March 1st is where I like to stick my fingers and thumbs.

[manuscriptx]

I'm enjoying the last vestiges of winter; the cold; the peace and the quiet. Unlike summer when it's nice; there's always a strong force of nature crashing down like a fist through a glass table. If you watch and listen to a storm as if were a book; you’d be reading through seven pages of short gusty breezes; flashes and crashes of lightning; loud bearish boorish tiger and lions’ roars of thunder and the calm after the storm.
I like winter. I like it like I like a white woman's vagina spread eagle on my lap in front of me; when she looks at me; when I look at her. When I see my fingers touch; it’s like vanilla at the bottom of the cup.
I also think of strawberry. After one monotonous occasion like an overnight thunderstorm............I like to open a window; look up at the brightening stars and sniff in some air. It's like when you bury your head under the covers awhile. Then when you get up; you can breathe easier.

The seasons change like a woman's underpants. Women are much like the seasons; meeting a woman when she's new to you; spring time. Things get hotter and heavier over the summer. Arguments and fights make it seem like autumn; and late autumn is forgiveness and make up sex.

What is winter? Winter is when we all sleep. Not just by me with my bride but all of us; all of humanity. We need winters to sleep. And we need writers to write about them. We need rejuvenated senses and in spring time we start over; only for the moment is when we become familiar with each other; we become smarter and more adept. We make better decisions and carry them over year after year.

But I like winter. It's the place where I choose to go.

 

[Lovecraftian]

That was eclectic and odd.

I liked it, and I like winter, too!

 

[manuscriptx]

thanks

so few people read and absorb a story exactly the way i want them to.

 

[Peder]

so few people read and absorb a story exactly the way i want them to.

I'm afraid you'll have to count me as one of them. Thr meaniing of your poem, including title, seems to rely entirely on metaphor, but even with that attempted understanding I cannot tie your final line to any allusion in the poem. For example, it is not clear whether you are referring to the winter at the end of the cycle or the winter that precedes March 1st. But I would say that is the risk you run with using metaphor, unless you provide at least a hint or two to make your allusion specific.
A long way of saying I don't get it as it stands.
Not that I have to, but you seem disappointed, so I respond. Hopefully constructively.

 

[manuscriptx]

no worries peder

The way I write my short paragraph(s) stories; I don't want them to be pigeon-holed.

At times I have this obsession of hoping readers absorb a story exactly the way I intend it to be read and understood.

Other times ( sometimes in the same instance ) I have an opposing obsession of convoluting a story so much so that it's not meant to be understood in any one particular way.

In answer to your question; no I'm not referring to any one particular winter.
A winter that preceeds the other seasons of the year nor am I referring to any anticipation of winter before the other seasons into the following year.


The entire poem ( if you look at it a certain way ) focuses in on why I like winter. I like summer as well but winter has it's own special place inside of myself where it stimulates the senses.

Winter is calm; slow and methodical. Summer is chaos. Spring and Autumn, depending on where you live; may not even be noticed as a season since tempatures make it still seem like winter or summer.

 

[Peder]

Well, manuscriptx, that clarifies. I'll reread and continue to mull it.
Thanks
Peder
:flowers: