dig

dig same old spring you know what i mean the desperation the long legs exposed the knowing smiles the flowers blooming as if under the impression that it’s such an original thing to do— oh, let’s all clap for the flowers, for daring to rear their ugly heads again— and the humid nights where bodies stick together and we must become vulnerable before we’re ready to be vulnerable because i’m leaving— in april, hell month— so let’s take these three full moons (snow moon, worm moon, pink moon) and make the most of them and dig parts of ourselves out to make room for each other