Seasons and Spirits

[Leah S.]

A play on a different idea:assuming this line is not part of the poem?
I can feel the heat of summer swinging Your meter is messing up my mind..had to get out the scratch paper. See below.
to every humid breath you take.
Rapping on your radiant templesThe image is clear: palms to cheeks, fingers upward, doing that nervous finger tattoo on someone's temples. Why?
are my greedy fingers, ten wine-stained snakes. why greedy? Snaky fingers are not the usual configuration of human fingers. I got an image of fingers with several extra joints. If you really want to extend that image, you could replace 'rapping' with 'writhing' in the above line.

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.Not sure about 'boiling' but I like this whole stanza.

Blossoming flames and heady beer
refill your shriveled bosom with hot blood.
The fearless rhythm of our winter love
restrains the silver blind beyond. Sorry, I don't get it. A blind is an enclosure where hunters hide. It doesn't require restraining, and is never silver.

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. 'your dim cellar' ? I think it would be sexier
Okay, here's my scratch-paper scansion for the first stanza:
XX/Xx/Xx/Xx/Xx (5 feet)
xX/xX/xX/xX (4 feet)
Xx/XX/Xx/XX/x- (4 1/2 feet)
XX/Xx/Xx/XX/XX (5 feet)
I think you can get away with weird meter, if it has a consistent and repeated pattern, but this doesn't yet. The second stanza starts with iambic four foot lines and goes to 5 foot lines; the third stanza starts doing weird things again.
Over all, this poem has a LOT going for it. Decide on the underlying rhythm, whether you want it simple or complicated, or if you want to evoke a rhythm from nature in it.

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.