It is cherry blossom season
the white dust is settling into
petals decorated with boot prints.

Spring brings nothing new.
The same old worn out truths,
my doubt in all of you

lingers as clear as distilled water
pure and bitter as Russian *****
no matter how much I love someone

trusting them is not an option.
This is not a crisis of faith,
it is Springtime again, as it always will be.

Reliably.
The seasons never change.
They will never disappoint

so triumphantly.
I dug the grave, my friends
just threw the dirt to cover me.