I really love this piece. Where do I even begin? I love the title, it foreshadows the poem a bit - with seasons being temporary. It's short but effective. The first verse you wrote
"Poems bloom with warm sunrise,"
with sunrise as a precursor to evening/night, it also hammers home this sense of 'temporary' and ties in beautifully with the title. It also might be a nod to poets being more active at night, as they're able to sift through their day to find inspiration and find it easier to write at night with less distractions, I love the idea of poems blooming.
The second verse you wrote
'nectar of words sweeten morning coffees' which also ties back into into 'night/temporary', with poets being able to read their poems again in the morning or works by others, with fresh eyes and a blank slate, effectively being able to set the tone of their day as referenced by the 'morning coffee' bit.
Then the ending, the beautiful bittersweet ending; this is where everything masterfully gets tied up. Referring back to the title - you write that the subject of this poem /'you' wither up before you're able to pen them into the poems you write at night. It made me think of morning dew dissipating in the heat, going back full circle. You'll never be able to write about them, as much as you try and maybe you've made your peace with that or you still lament about it. What's also interesting is the title, it suggests that this is all temporary, does that mean you wanting to write poems about them is just temporary, or more so that they're temporary, drifting in and out of your life like seasons do. It's really subtle but there's a lot of substance to this piece. I'm envious of this piece. :)
The metaphor here ahh! This is the definition to me of a bittersweet poem, and the brevity worked well to illustrate that as well. The hope and rebirth promised in spring, at perhaps the start and onset of a relationship, and then the complexities of them, where it makes it more difficult to write and remember them. It made me think of several things: people passing us in our life who we thought were permanent fixtures in our world, who we became loyal to, yet they were not committed. And how memory can be something we want to hold close to, but at times, want to completely fade away and not set in stone, in ink.
This made me laugh to read this because I always think of writing something positive in my poetry which I am not known for, and sometimes the thoughts do come or I get an idea, but then more often than not, it ends up exactly as your last lines there and it is like something over takes the pen and the darkness creeps though the ink ????