April, you're the cruelest:
you flirt your frills at us
your daffodils, your narcissus,
your tulips. You sweet lipped
sass. We've had enough of
you, sprinkling your glitter
threefully, gleefully,
our eyeballs itch with it
you giggle at our sneezing, you
slip breezes at us sweetly
as if we'd smile through our misery.
You tease. Too fecund
floribundant. Spring is
tyranny. We itch and weep
admire your ruffled twirls.
We've had enough of this
soft torture, this lovelines.
Of all the spring months, April is
the springiest.
No comments:
Post a Comment