my love

i don't usually write anything before my poems, but i thought this deserved a comment. this was intended to be a prose piece but i'm usually incapable of coherent thoughts and decided to just keep writing until i'd said everything i wanted to say. i'm finding lockdown is hard and i just wanted to talk about it. so here's some poetic prose spring is fleeting yet eternal. we are constantly waiting for its arrival. it arrives loudly and leaves quietly. cherry blossoms are encapsulating and overbearing and gone within days but for two weeks the earth is decorated with dancing pink silhouettes stretching across the sky. the relief from winter and the prerequisite for summer, spring works hard to bring the earth back to life. i think spring started not long ago yet i have hardly seen it from the smallness of my window. an appreciation for my garden has inexplicably grown as high and strong as the flowers climbing the bricks of my home, without it i might have never ha...

please i want so badly for the good things to happen sweet Sylvia i'm trapped in your jar looking unto the world from afar the glass so thick it's like i'm oceans apart from these good things you dream so much about, the fig tree is falling and dropping at my feet i'm surrounded by decaying fruit yet every person that i meet is gorging savoring on ripe opportunity theirs for the taking as i continue to starve to death of my own making, give me something i'm suffocating on the smell of fresh linen and warm air queer and sultry perhaps flowers will grow over me, like a lavender field in the country i deserve a spring and a summer and another and another and another so the good things can finally happen i will not succumb to the jar and the heat Sylvia one day we shall eventually meet and i will tell you about the good things that you never got to see