The trees are holding hands
in the deep dark
like quiet teenagers
at a drive-in movie
While high above
a woodpecker sucks
the sap seeping
from newly drilled holes
Although this poem isn’t about sex
it is Spring
and all the world is blossoming
with fresh unfurled lust
(for this week’s Living Poetry prompt, written with my friends at Charles House after we read some famous Spring poems. Believe it or not, they mentioned the woodpecker before I told them about the prompt.)