22 Readings | 0 Ratings

3.29

White blossoms, I catch my breath.

Shapes I’ve seen before a hundred times before I wake

I try to make you come. I let it out.


Trees glutted with the flowers,

bunched up like cotton balls.


There are more than years between us,

but you wake me to whimsy again.

Spirit of the first spring blooms, exultant.


I can almost smell skin on the air,

soft salt of it. I bid you return to me again,

but I’ve no more power over you

than command over petals spilling forth—

the abundance I would give you.

Posted 03/29/19
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