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