Blossoming in the
Snow globe are technicolor
Ornaments, inhale
The melting *** of sweet
And musky. Welcome, Flora.

I’m having spring fever
Dreams again.
My hands ache to be
Anchored in dirt
Like the roots of a plant,
Delicate and stubborn.

My skin begs for the sun,
Leave kisses where
She’s been. Freckles, undiscovered
****** constellations,
Guide me home; a map to
The real garden of Eden.

My lungs crave the sweet,
The musky,
The dusty smell of outside;
Fresh and natural.
The cold smell of winter lingers,
But not much longer.

Ears attuned to every song
Of the birds,
And every chirp of an insect;
Music to my ears,
The sound of celebration. Growth,
We are all becoming.

You don’t get lemon,
Life gives you lime;
The sour taste of
Traveling through time.

The past tastes like
Margarita the second time around,
Long forgotten scents
Accompany too familiar sound.

A forbidden place, you may
Gaze, but never dwell.
Memories, like sirens, hold
You captive in their spell.

If you insist on a visit,
Just don’t stay long.
Past is evidence of
Where it all went wrong.