When The Winter’s Over

The spring is back in town

And my crowns are no longer made of wires.

Blossoms and moss grow on blood, crusty brown,

Spreading vaporized desires.

The leaves tickle slightly

As dazzling sweat trickle down the back.

You promised not to take my cries lightly

But the spring stole your tact.

My senses get attacked

With the vivid smell of primrose and tulip.

The chains around my wrists, once deep black,

Now clear and lucid.

The sun climbs in fast leaps

Over the tiresomely arrogant brick towers.

Its white light is a sweet, sweet release,

And I collapse in flowers.