Kissing the Seasons

Imagine if you were one of those ancient Greek gods or godesses, fooling around between earth and heaven, hoping not to mess up any human's life in the process. You would probably have the chance to kiss all the seasons: Pretty Spring, Hot Summer, Lush Autumn and Playful Winter. This is what I've heard it's like:

Spring kisses light and lippy, as the dewdrops in May, as the growing day. Springs's touch is gentle, hands on your face, bodies barely brushing. Spring smells like lilies of the valley, and tastes so sweet the memory lasts a year...

Summer's kisses are hot and deep, feverish almost violent. They leave no room to breath, no place to run save to move along. Pure pashion, two steaming bodies melt into one, when the night temperature rises higher than the day...

Autum's kiss is lush and long, and sloooooow. Autum's hands slip down your arms, and round your back. Ripe as the harvest, this kiss is for all senses. Fruity and lingering, adagio in a grown up world...

Winter's kiss is like a game, coy and playfull, bity too. Like snowflakes playing hide and seek, like Eskimo noses. Winter's kiss is the laughter of the little stream, alive as ever below the ice...