spring

Spring

the concrete apparent deceptions approach from the mist
while half-remembered lilac vines laden the air
with their scent
green is the color of fairest longing
tugged apart and left bleeding by truth
gainfully engaged, traipsed on and downtrodden
the soggy mass disappearing under the tendrils of fog
crushed grass smelling like summer
the blood of plants, water and sugar
carried in a kiss, fresh yet already starting to decay
swallowed by silence.