i awake from icy blackness
winter, sick summer, whose fever breaks
when the clouds break, and the warm air
not dragging me back to bed,
my usual shield from the bitterness,
but instead caressing my heart and skin
as i slowly stretch and rise to breathe the day
breakfast is a white chocolate strawberry
brunch, a banana and coffee
i fling open my windows, let the butterflies in
far away but here, gentle, hovering spring,
i don't need you to be real, to be in love with you
in my now you are true,
that's so real
that it will have to do
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the sun shines brightly cutting through the haze into tight corners of the post-atomic daze the concrete alley floor, with its broken flow...
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for fourteen years i wished my father dead at the age of eighteen i buried him it would take another six years to be rid of his physica...
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