Summer, let me have Summer.

What once were the lush greens saturated in little stars now eclipse themselves in the spectacular distract of this new blooming fluorescence.

Why must one worth so of envy so be brief?
Brief too as any one leap of intoxic bliss before snuffed mercilessly by a gravity vengeance.

Now, I abandon myself.
An exhausted onlooker gone to capture the light, left now in the pitch and the cold,
Looking on as our fateful blooms crispen, shiver and die, leaving behind a disgorged skeleton;
It’s forked bones petrified lightning clacking amidst in my starved exhale.

Branches bare.
Branches of sorrowful recollection and bitter regret,
For this claim of springtime flowers was but a sly herald for my greenery deceased.

Summer, let me have Summer,
Though I dread it’s attention.
Such fresh green leaves would forever be spoiled with the poison memory of those flowers.
Of that conniving innocence.

Summer will never be enough.