Seasons and Spirits

[ellajam]

Hi, River, a few notes on your recent changes.

A play on a different idea:
I can feel the heat of summer swinging
to every humid breath you take.
Rapping on your radiant temples
are my greedy fingers, ten wine-stained snakes.

The bitter atmosphere of fall
nips at your nose, the wilting rose.
Enthralling smells of cider, freshly-pressed,
and boiling sap still oozes from your skin.
I  prefer "noble hill" to "wilting rose", for me a much more interesting tie to fall and nose. I also prefer "and boiling maple sap bleed from your skin". "Still" seems like it's there just to use "ooze".

Blossoming flames and heady beer
refill your shriveled bosom with hot blood.
The fearless rhythm of our winter love
restrains the silver blind beyond.

You're wearing that shift of flowers again:
your vernal musk, your honey's golden wax.
A glen of cherry cordial lies
unsullied in our dim cellar.
I'm still undecided on the honey/was change but in the current last line I think you could consider cutting dim, or use asleep instead of sleeping followed by deep or down. Just  a thought.

First edit:
I can feel the heat of summer swinging
to every humid breath you take.
Rapping on your radiant temples
are my greedy fingers, ten wine-stained snakes.

The bitter atmosphere of fall
nips at your nose, the noble hill.
Enthralling smells of cider, freshly-pressed,
and boiling maple sap bleed from your skin.

Blossoming flames and heady beer
refill your trembling bosom with hot blood.
The fearless rhythm of our winter love
blushes the silver blind beyond.

You're wearing that shift of flowers again:
your vernal musk, the wax to your honey.
A glen of cherry cordial lies
sleeping soundly in our cellar.

Original:
I can feel the heat of summer swinging
to every humid breath you take.
Rapping on your pallid temples
are my greedy fingers, ten wine-stained snakes.

The bitter atmosphere of fall
nips at your nose, the noble hill.
Enthralling smells of cider, freshly-pressed,
and boiling maple sap bleed from your skin.

Blossoming flames and heady beer
are passions we behold while in these chains.
The fearless rhythm of our winter love
blushes the silver blind beyond.

You're wearing that shift of flowers again:
your vernal musk, the wax to your honey.
A glen of cherry cordial lies
unsullied in our dim cellar.

Thanks for the read and interesting edits.