The Wheel

In the winter, my beloved,

when your blood runs cold from missing my heat,

you will return.

My arms around you,

hot upon your icy skin,

I will warm your cold, cold heart,

(its drum beats slow and faint).

I will wrap arms and legs about you

in a lovers’ tangle.

As Isis and Osiris,

we will worship one another.


In the spring, my beloved,

as you thaw, ever so slightly

to my touches,

my warm tongue mingles with yours,

awakens your palate.

Wet kisses upon your countenance

energizes your spirit,

stirs the passion of your mouth.

I run my hands through your golden hair

weave chamomile buds in your beard,

you are now groomsman for Flora or Persephone.

You are nearly awake, still cool to my touch.

Think of days to come,

when we will run hot like Pele’s fire.


In the summer, my beloved,

you are mine and I am yours.

We are boiling,

our passionate intensity,

fiery and fierce.

Sweat rolls from our skin,

becoming steam amidst

summer fires.

We are ceremony.

We are ritual.

We are Lord and Lady, explosive in our glory.

I am Diana, Athena, huntress;

you are my prey.

Our blood, lava,

running with the chase.

We are pure energy now,


electrical beings.


In the autumn, my beloved,

your long hair darkens,

loses the light it once held.

You begin to rest more;

the moon has come around again.

You are not receptive to my touches.

You begin to withdraw;

soon you will turn from me.

Just as nature shifts;

you distance yourself,

cut me off,

refuse my embrace.

2014 copyright by Katie Pifer, available at

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