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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=448254" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Spring Bud</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">She was without her Spring<br>seeming born from childhood to only Winter Cold<br>and I was drawn to her for that reason, it seemed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'd hoped for a manufactured Autumn in her<br>from my own intense desire of it and that<br>could by mere exposure melt her glacial-ness<br>and she would then be unable to resist<br>the Fire I had in-born for her; <br>that mere proximity was translative to her breasts<br>to her glassy eyes, her breath in-drawn<br>by-passing her stony regard<br>and the challenge she took for anyone to reach<br>her inside ice-berg which floated on what must<br>have been the Arctic Seas her Soul sailed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I drew near, more confused as to my being<br>prey or preyed and she watched me in her mind's eye<br>advance my hand slightly to feign to touch her's by mistake, <br>ready to embrace or withdraw and pretend it was all accident-<br>yet hoping, even if there was retreat, that a spark would ignite and breach<br>between the hand offered and the frozen finger-tip she offered only<br>in repose.<br>These moments, I think, a hand's touch, given or received<br>rejected or accepted can take the curtain back on a promise<br>of more or reveal the door to slam and nothing gained.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I moved my finger close, not ready yet to risk the touch<br>looking for a sign to see if Affection's Beast would purr or pounce; <br>but it did neither and from my sense from her, she too had that<br>nervousness first encounter's make, entreaties in the yawl between<br>offered or given, smile or scowl, push away or grateful reach, <br>or better reciprocity.<br>We both were extended at the finger-tip I then began to sense her cold ship<br>had a willingness to sail to warmer climes; softly bold, I lay my hand<br>atop hers<br>measuring pitchful signs of a ship; anchored or ship breaking moor<br>for the comfort of the open sea again? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But overlapping warmth, mine to her's, she allowed-didn't withdraw<br>and I took this from her, her first Spring bud.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Lonnie+Hicks">Lonnie Hicks</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=448254" data-title="A Spring Bud de Lonnie Hicks" data-description="She was without her Spring
seeming born from childhood to only Winter Cold
and I was drawn to her for that reason, it seemed.

I'd hoped for a manufactured Autumn in her
from my own intense desire of it and that
could by mere exposure melt her gla..."></div>
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