Spring agian
You break me
In your perennial ephemeral waste
The silent is too much
An old brown razorblade
Up and down
Through my heart
The absance of the
Lilac wind
To take away
That drops of salt
Pouring from my naked neckline
In between the untouched red frangipanis
Upon that rift
My subjugation of mind
The tickle under my
prefrontal cortical seclusion
That my mother gave
And conjectured by
Peisistratid tyrant.