Love is as seasonal as potatoes

Eventually, we learn that love is as seasonal as potatoes.
Long days of sunshine are followed by short, lusty nights.
Long nights of easeful meditation are followed by doleful, inconsequential days.
Even sex is squeezed by moon, sun, and stars into potato pancakes and candy canes.
Nor do we know what tides pull on our kisses.

Way down deep below the senses is another sort of love,
As equable as the bottom of the sea.
Yet its currents are more powerful than Nile bullrushes,
More seductive than the fragrance of orange blossoms.
At noon it is not heated by the sun,
Nor is it chilled by the midnight coyote's howl.