spring

we met in april

though the tarot card reader

had told me march

I didn’t mind you at all

a subtlety

a hint of peach

in barely a breeze

sweet, but not too much

simple, almost innocent

the way you would

briefly hold me

when we walked

the way our fingers

would touch

slow and easy

not looking for a why

but happy with a

why not

I write this in the

summertime

in blazing heat

after a wild, wild june

I will always remember

what I will likely forget

is you:

the quiet, uneventful

frustrating

spring.