Seasons and Spirits

[RiverNotch]

Thanks again for the feedback. New edit is up. Couple of notes:

1. the rhythm I don't think exceeds in those places. I kept the long-gestated idea of the meter 'changing' with the seasons: warmer lines are trochaic, colder lines are iambic, with slight variations to both. that said, i'm still anxious about the execution
2. i did mean 'drafted', using the noun for certain amounts of alcohol as a verb. 'supple', on the other hand...

having worked on this for about four years now, i'm extra uncertain about all the little details. critique still welcome.

PS forgot to mention: defo agree the title grows lackluster.

[Knot]

Hi River,

I can feel the heat of summer
- is there anything better than 'heat'?
(It's implied by 'summer' and, given
the rest of the imagery you employ,
it seems rather flat.)
swinging with your every gesture.
Writhing on your swollen nest
are my fingers, wine-stained serpents.
- I think you might consider switching
the order of L3/4, as in
These fingers, wine-stained serpents,
writing on your swollen nest.

Smells of freshly drafted cider
ripple from your girt and navel.
Spirits blue with autumn's bite
stalk to steal our love away.
- I really don't think 'drafted' works,
I've never heard it used in that sense
(when 'pulled' or 'poured' would be
more usual/clear) and it's a bit
intrusive as a consequence.

Blossoming flames and heady beer
refill your bosom with hot blood.
- 'refill your bosom' doesn't work
at all well. The metaphor seems
very laboured.
The fearless rhythm of our love
blushes the winter blind beyond.
- 'blush' seems a weak reaction after
'fearless' (and 'beyond' seems out of
place) - Could the 'rhythm' be 'breaking
the ice of winter' Or similar?

You're wearing gaudy chintz again:
honeybees waltz to your spring figure.
- I don't think these lines are an
improvement on the previous version.
A glen of cherry cordial lies
dreaming sweetly in our cellar.
- these two lines could almost fit
between S1 and S2 (it seems to me)
and then, if you could come up with
a strong fourth line for S2 you might
end the piece there.

Best, Knot.

[busker]

I can feel the heat of summer
swinging with your every gesture.  .....”every gesture” is a bit abstract 
Writhing on your swollen nest
are my fingers, wine-stained serpents. ....lovely sensuous imagery

Smells of freshly drafted cider
ripple from your girt and navel.
Spirits blue with autumn's bite
stalk to steal our love away. ..... unsure about this one. The above three lines are vivid, this one abstract 

Blossoming flames and heady bee
refill your bosom with hot blood.
The fearless rhythm of our love .... not the best line 
blushes the winter blind beyond.

You're wearing gaudy chintz again:
honeybees waltz to your spring figure.
A glen of cherry cordial lies
dreaming sweetly in our cellar. .... the ending is nice again. This and wine stained serpents are the high points of this poem for me

I can feel the heat of summer
swinging with your every gesture.
Writhing on your swollen nest
are my fingers, wine-stained serpents.

Smells of freshly drafted cider
ripple from your supple navel.
Spirits blue with autumn's bite
follow this scent to steal our youth.

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

Your old sundress on display:
spring's honeyed musk returning.
A glen of cherry cordial lies
dreaming sweetly in our cellar.

Here's a metered version of the poem, with an emphasis on changes associated with the seasons. Not much different from the rest, I have to note.

I can feel the heat of summer swinging
with your every humid whisper.
Writhing on your ruddy temples
are my fingers, greedy wine-stained serpents.

Smells of freshly-drafted cider
ripple from your noble dimples.
Bothering spirits blue with autumn's bite
follow this scent to steal our love away.

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

Flowers are blooming on your skin again:
your vernal musk, your honey's wax, returns.
A glen of cherry cordial lies
dreaming sweetly in our cellar.

Yes, the meter is meant to be inconstant, but there's a sort of pattern with how it goes. And I do feel that iambic would capture the heat and slow nature of summer better, with trochaic being stronger for the reverse, but I'd like to think that the meter is meant to capture the spirit of the seasons themselves, rather than just the spirits of the characters: summer is usually a much livelier time than winter. I'm a bit bothered by the feminine ending of the first stanza getting in the way of the spondee, which sort of breaks the sense of doing spondees at both ends, and I'm also bothered with the slowness of the final stanza. I'm also a bit insecure with how the images work, whether the whole thing is strong and vivid enough to be effective. But thanks for the coming feedback!

Old edits:

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.

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.

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.