Spring bears false witness

The gentle breeze tousles dark strands
Eyes closed
Bled thru to blood
Birdsong cries
Each warble singing joy
Steady hum of distant roads
Leading to lives
Unknown

This quiet perfection
Marred only by absence
And the fleeting thoughts
That if a choice were to be made
Today would have been a good day

Instead
Fresh blooms
Fading winter
Fading night
And a lament
For who can be truly content
In such perfection
Without your lips on mine