I loved her dearly,
And,
With each passing spring the time went by with a lazy, careless ease.

In March, the westerly wild winds roared and howled,
Bringing her closer with each passing storm.
"Love me," she chanted,
"Want me," she screamed,
And I knew more as time ticked,
I would never be free.

April came green and glistening gold,
The smell of rain, the smell of hope,
Petrichor promises blossomed and sprung from the fertile earth.

I put my hand on her breast, and stroked her skin softly,
Felt the beating of her heart, flush against my hand.

In May came the illusion - love everlasting,
Through tears and laughter, I was sorrow bound,
Both brightest heaven and hottest hell have no remorse,
For fallen angels lost and past.

In June, she would begin to decay,
To live,
To die,
Still and only to revive,
I held her close,
I breathed her in,
I loved her most sincerely, and yet alas
A thought, "It wasn't meant to be."