January tastes cold and metallic, like a rock being mined.

February smells like green, bright and minty.

March only waits behind April, cowering
in it’s mighty shadow.

May feels like paper, slightly rough
but necessary.

June is sea green, the transition of the grassy spring into the wet summer.

Between July and August is a furnace,
bringing heat to combat the bright oceans.

The opposite of the dull yellow September
is the bright orange of October, filled
to the brim with surprise.

November looks like a man at a bench with an umbrella, waiting for his December party bus to come.