thaw me open: an erotic love letter to the first day of spring

the sun is spilling itself open
like a lover who no longer cares
if they are too much.

you are standing
at the mouth of the equinox,
wet-lipped, wide-eyed,
watching the earth
press her body against time
until the past and the future melt
into a single breath
of bloom.

persephone is dragging her nails
down the dark walls of winter,
her footprints bruising the soil
into petals.

ostara is on her knees in the fields,
mouth full of resurrection,
fingers in the dirt
like a prayer.
she wants you to taste
what she is tasting.
she wants you to know
what it feels like to be
unburied.

and you—

you are winter-worn
and waiting,
bones still
remembering the silence,
skin still tight with the forgetting.

but the equinox is not a season,
it is a threshold,
and if you want to cross it,
you must let it undress you.

you must let it
kiss the hunger
back into your mouth.

how to make love to the equinox:

stand bare before her.

the old versions of you
will not fit inside her hands.
the dead stories,
the wintered grief,
the frostbitten names
you still whisper in your sleep—
leave them by the door.

let your body mirror the earth.

she is breaking open,
softening at the edges,
the rivers inside her
rushing faster now.
do you feel it?
the way your breath
is running toward itself,
the way your pulse
is no longer afraid
to be loud.

let your skin learn the rhythm of thaw.

let your blood become
the color of sunrise.

place your lips to the nape
of her rebirth.

the scent of her—
fresh rain, crushed blossoms,
the exhale of trees waking up.
drink it like nectar.
let it fill your lungs
with all the things
you were too afraid
to want before now.

because spring
is the season of permission.
of heat.
of remembering
the shape of your own appetite.

whisper her name between the gaps in your ribs.

say it
like worship.

say it like you are not
just watching the equinox—
you are inside it.

you are inside
persephone’s slow rise,
inside ostara’s bloom-drunk laughter,
inside the moment the sun remembers
how to be generous again.

become the god you want to worship.

there is no temple
holier than a body
that knows it belongs to the earth.

let yourself ache with it.

let yourself praise with it.

let yourself kiss this season
like it is the first mouth that ever tasted
like home.