Vivaldi’s second
Spring, sadder than the season,
Evokes this soul ache.
Vivaldi’s second
Spring, sadder than the season,
Evokes this soul ache.
September city sounds,
Crickets, rhythmic thunk of ceiling fan whirring crooked,
Distant dog barking.
Encouraging them to bury the words
This conversation is done,
I realize futility.
Acid burn.