I am never replete with loving you. Satisfaction makes me greedy

The lilac blooms now in May, 

our bed awash with its fragrance, 

while beside the drive, buds 

of peony and poppy swell 

toward crackling, slivers of color 

bulging like a flash of eye 

from someone pretending to sleep. 

Each in its garden slot, each 

in its season, crocus gives way 

to daffodil, through to fall 

monkshood and chrysanthemum. 

Only I am the wicked rose 

that wants to bloom all year. 

I am never replete with loving 

you. Satisfaction 

makes me greedy. I want 

to blossom out with my joy of you 

in March, in July, in October. 

I want to drop my red red 

petals on the hard black ice. 

 

[Marge Piercy {1936- } 'In Which She Begs (like everybody else) That Love Will Last', from The Hunger Moon: New and Selected Poems 1980-2010]