April

How beautiful!

The way it blooms

red juice dripping from

ripened fruit:

her eyes, black velvet

silver on her nails

a mouth that curls

when it says my name.

What desire! I inhale her mind

each time that I breathe

I get woozy off her words

when they're meant for me.

How tragic! for part of me knows

I will never touch her: she is the last snow,

melting slick and shimmery

and aching to go.