Does dark things to my mind.
It bludgeons me with vernal fever
And periodic self-hate.
It’s a season that can’t make up its mind
About whether to be hot
Or whether to be cold;
It feels just like I do,
No matter the external temperature
From one moment to the next.
It colours my mind like a pastel Easter egg
Then splashes it with blood.
It’s the wet and the dry all the same
That do me in —
The air drinking up all the sparse wet
And ringing out dry steam and torrents.
*** Don’t forget to mention the snow, Sweet Cheeks. ***
*** Addendum: Yeah… snow too. ***