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If we were like the four seasons.
How quickly would our stars align?
Would it be? Perhaps, when the pollen kisses the vast meadow of poppies?
Would it be like the first drop of dew into the ever waiting embrace of chlorophyll?
How embarrassing would it be?
To capture the faded pink on the soft plump flesh of youthful innocence.
Or the hundred and one simulation of your lips on mine?
How quickly would we adapt?
I'd have loved us to bond unknowingly; growing fonder as our meteor, showers.
Intensely; as our climaxes crashes in soft and hard waves, uncontrollably forcing out outbursts of wild laughter mixed with an aftertaste of fire and emotion.
Intoxicatingly; would it carry the scent of the earth?
No, I believe you smelled like the earth after rain.
You smelled like my addiction .
Like a breath of fresh air, my point of no return.
First gaze was always point 0 seconds of stoping and restarting, my helpless bloodlust muscle overclocks sending a wave of hot mess.
That bitter sweet wave of clumsy forgetfulness.
In helpless moments where it's flash endings saddens me, why were our moments always the fastest?
If slowed and reverb were gifts I could acquire, then we would enjoy those episodes in various shades of red.
However, I could only ask myself, what was this that has come upon us?
Rain fell and rivers flowed through the left and right clavicle.
Like avant gardes, thus began my first blush of SPRING.

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