the sky is entirely white,
or rather, it has been entirely
replaced by clouds

in contrast,
the grass is a lush green,
luxurious and bright

the cement is damp from
last night's storm,
and mud puddles are plentiful

the atmosphere is complex,
too bright to be winter,
not sunny enough for summer,
a bit too chilly for spring,
but it's much too early for fall

on these rare days,
I curl up on the sofa
and imagine you

the chair's arms are yours,
it's back, your chest,
and I bury my face in it
drinking in the wonderful
comfort that I feel when
I'm with you