Proust was right. Beauty’s meshed with Melancholy;
His aching arms circle her body,
Lustrous as a pearl, but the blue morning
Leaves him empty. Bittersweet,
Her aftertaste floods his mouth.
Today cherry blossom rain
Flashes through early summer air.
Pink petal bodies carpet the lane
Crushed under your four wheels.
Helmet heads in blue and yellow
Pass to and fro.
And from my impossible d...

Read and leave comments (0)