All the Seasons I Love You
[for our 6M in August 2025]
Andy—my winter hearth and spring bloom, my summer sun and autumn harvest. In six months you’ve been all of it: the warmth when the world feels cold, the fresh hope when I need renewal, the blaze that sets me alight, and the golden rest that reminds me I’m safe. This poem is for you, a love that turns with the seasons but never fades, only deepens—half a year behind us, and all the years ahead waiting like an endless sky.
Time turns,
but my love for you is the constant pulse
under every changing sky.
The year is only a frame--
you are the painting.
In the hush of frost,
I pull you closer,
our breath curling together in silver clouds.
Snow drapes the pines,
but the warmth between us
is a private hearth no wind can reach.
The first green blades push through the thaw,
and I feel you in every new beginning.
Your smile is the sudden bloom
I could not have dreamed in winter--
a thaw in my bones,
a promise that life will always return.
The days are heavy with gold,
and you are the long stretch of light
I never want to end.
Every touch tastes of ripe fruit,
every glance a heatwave,
every laugh the hum of cicadas
singing us into forever.
The air sharpens;
leaves drift like embers from the canopy.
You are the harvest of all my days--
sweet, deep, and hard-earned.
Even as the light wanes,
I gather you close,
storing your love like firewood
against the dark to come.
Through every turning,
you are my steady center,
my reason for watching the sky change.
Seasons will pass.
You remain.
but my love for you is the constant pulse
under every changing sky.
The year is only a frame--
you are the painting.
In the hush of frost,
I pull you closer,
our breath curling together in silver clouds.
Snow drapes the pines,
but the warmth between us
is a private hearth no wind can reach.
The first green blades push through the thaw,
and I feel you in every new beginning.
Your smile is the sudden bloom
I could not have dreamed in winter--
a thaw in my bones,
a promise that life will always return.
The days are heavy with gold,
and you are the long stretch of light
I never want to end.
Every touch tastes of ripe fruit,
every glance a heatwave,
every laugh the hum of cicadas
singing us into forever.
The air sharpens;
leaves drift like embers from the canopy.
You are the harvest of all my days--
sweet, deep, and hard-earned.
Even as the light wanes,
I gather you close,
storing your love like firewood
against the dark to come.
Through every turning,
you are my steady center,
my reason for watching the sky change.
Seasons will pass.
You remain.
