i want your flowers, want your honey, blossoming lust or love or whatthefuck
i want your flowers, not your cherry, sour, to ripe, to rotten

try hard to make it easy it used to be easy to make things hard, worn out without notice, i didn't notice what you wore or where you stood and with whom. does it matter, let's forget.

fucktallupndown and right not left cause i won't forget
one thing but i can't remember (how it felt. )

slouch, stumble, stand smoking in the snow. yeah, walk tall, toes pointed to a slippery slope and down you slide to land in a headstand and red bumps-black bruises up my side. nerves twitching, sleeping over and going numb.

like air

breathing in a cold snap, breathing out, watching my warm
breath condense as its heat dissipates, because it can't last.
i can do this for a few minutes, watch my own breathing,
untill my nose gets cold
and my cheeks turn red
and my fingers go stiff because i lost my gloves, again.
my feelings in winter are a lot like like the air i'm breathing in
and out- not that different from summer nor that different
from fall but cooler and crisper and more urgent. but my
extremities are more like the way i act, cold and stiff, out
of practice. i lost my gloves again and i just don't know
what to say to you.