In My Pocket
Springtime curls up inside my pocket
and rides close to my heart
awaiting
scrambled eggs by candlelight
and
pretty ribbons woven about the riddle
of you and me.
Somewhere between riotous winds bending
tree spines
and
frozen colors rattling my windows,
I grew wise enough to know
that
when lilac scented breath wanders
about my sleepy eyelashes,
you’ll be home to fill my empty pocket.
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