In her eyes rests the rolling underbelly of spring, trembling and restlessly burgeoning, where the blossoms die and the death is disrupted with the violent ardency of blossoming. Splendor is the sweetness of her laugh scraping against a throat stinging and split; the subtle furling of her shoulders when she smiles. Brittle and wild, she wrestles with the sun until it sears and lightens her, then kisses sorrow with a mouth untrembling.

-AugustusSea