2/4 of a suite of seasonal poems

he’s wearing skirts of white lace

with blossoms tucked in his hair

he’s soft fingers and sweet

willow branches blooming from his throat

he’s soaked in rain

snapped willow branches and a sore throat

he watches as you go

and he’s still kind, you know?

still soft, and trying

still pulsing with feelings

that will never be returned

he’s a fighter

he howls with the wind

washes dead leaves down gutters

spits out hail like fury

means every word of what he said

even as the river bleeds into the city

he’s got flowers of gossamer

and branches of velvet and chiffon

he’s everything at once

he’s never enough, not really

but he’s got sticky sweet kisses

apple blossoms and rosewater

he tastes like forgiveness

he tastes like relief

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The second in a series of seasonal poems! I’ll be posting autumn next week, I believe. 🙂