The buds of withheld spring -
Puffed lips of ‘xpectant nature.
Wet grass, decay to green –
‘Duced tricks of ‘sistent venture
That you are part of.
Glass shattered o’re the floor,
In good of moods of bad.
Your door, my door – his door.
Blue-green to brown-red -
You n’er was part of..
Doors, opened by wind.
You come? You go? Staying?
Someone has gravely sinned.
Puffed buds are flower praying.
Per your consent.
Spring – ho! – is battle call.
Womb burst in every colour.
I question one and all.
Sexed one, was he of valor
That… I am of?
The buds of withheld spring
© Copyright: Fern, 2004
Свидетельство о публикации №104040600385
Свидетельство о публикации №104040600385
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