Winter Marmalade by Matthew D Albertson
Winter Marmalade Matthew D Albertson When the days of midnight sunAre past, a gnawing grows within—A pit of need. Not for want of foodOr drink. No, it is the dark itself I yearnTo eat, grown in gloaming hours—That of thy heart. Whene'er thy sorrowsFruit like sour, violet crabapples, ILust to pluck them all from limb andGround. Those succulent woes, thyNighttime dread, to me is mostPreservative—A nourishing, filling, decadent jam.Oh, let me in thy late autumnal orchard,Ripe with crop and tang and rot;Let me gorge upon thy noxious cropOf melancholia.I thank thee;And take sparingly,Greedily;Yet…
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