"harum" poems
Jakarta, 25 Mei 2008
Kapan ku boleh ke sana
Dunia terindah untuk semua
Udara harum nan sejuk
Tiada panas mentari yang menyengat
Boleh kah aku melangkah
Menuju ke pintu surge
Impian semua manusia
Sudikah Kau Tuhan?
Bila ku pijakkan kaki di surge
Merasakan hidup istimewa
Penuh ayat-ayat doa
Surga-Mu indah Tuhan…
Bolehkah ku sentuh sejenak
Merasa damai nan indah
Ku mulai masuk ‘tuk selamanya
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 8:39 AM UTC
We've crossed the road into teenage haste
Generation gap
With confusion, harum scarum, mistrust, disparity
Not knowing who to listen or follow
Family, or so called, not your friends
You keep thinking we the parents our your enemy
When we only try to teach you
Embrace you with the facts of life
Are life, Are love has been
No More, No Less
You know we given the best lessons of life
But it's your choice to make it right
You can't keep trying to keep pushing
Not expect to get pushed back
We our your parents
Not your friends
My word as your parent is bond
Don't take and misstep
Out of your place
Cause even though
Still you're moving around to find the right direction
The wrong direction will be probation officers
In your face
Think long and hard of the identity you want to choose
One time, two times, three times
You Lose
I'm just talking and giving tough love
All can be remove
With your last desire
To breathe free air
Your wake up call could be
Being locked up
In the streets with a dare
Bang, Bang, you're dead
So can we sit down without a lot of frustration
Talk things over
Everything changes in life
Nothing stays the same for long
Soon you'll be an adult
To make the choice
If they are wrong or right
Just don't make them now
Preferably not ever
Strange day's of a teenage life
Doesn't stay the same
Forever
One thing I do know
God doesn't put us here
On Earth
Without a purpose or a plan
(upwc)-Zenobia/aka/LadyZ710-1/30/10
Jan 30, 2010
Jan 30, 2010 at 7:47 PM UTC
Jakarta, Senin 20 Oktonber 2008
Malam ini aku bersedih
Aku menangis, aku berfikir
Agar waktu menunggu
Hingga aku mulai tenang
Cobaan hidup datang
Melumuri ragaku
Hingga terasa lumpuh
Tak berdaya bagai mati
Ku tunggu hujan bunga
Yang harum bebaskan raga
Mungkinkah aku bisa sabar?
Jika petir tetap menyambar
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 8:27 AM UTC
Seteguk apapun, semua tak akan berakhir
Aku adalah seorang pemabuk yang selalu menguarkan harum arak kemanapun aku pergi. Anggur, dan berbotol-botol ***** telah kutenggak pagi ini. Dan hanya hari ini pula aku ingin bicara, tentang segenggam racun yang kalian semua suntik ke dalam nadi dan pembuluhku.
Topeng
yang dengan bangga kalian pakai
tak ubahnya ketelanjangan
hanya mengumbar malu dan aib
Tawa
yang sesenggukan kalian jeritkan
hanyalah tangis jiwa kalian yang memudar
memutihkan kejujuran dan kebajikan
Oh, beginikah cara kerja dunia
berduri dan berbatu, sama saja
disetiap lajurnya
kemanapun aku pergi, dijejali
mulutku dengan dusta dan hanya dusta
belaka
Menghitamnya jiwaku, seandainya
bagai langit malam
tak ada chandra di ufuknya
Sudah selayaknya aku berkabung atas jiwaku, dimana dia merintih penuh sesal dan tanya. Apakah lalu lalang motor dan diesel itu memusingkan kepala atau hanya sebuah kesibukan belaka. Dan dengan itu pula jiwaku berakhir, terdiam, dalam kematian.
Kukubur dia dengan layak, diantara nisan-nisan lain disekitarku, yang diberi nomor, sesuai urutannya. Jiwaku tersungkur di nomor tujuh. Beruntung sekali!
Kukubur dia, pelan sekali dengan tertidur. Tak berharap bangun lagi di keesokan pagi. Kutaburi bunga-bunga dan prosa yang harum, dan kusiram dengan sebotol Martini dan bir.
Harum. Seharum embun yang kau injak ditepian jalan.
Wangi. Sewangi sukmamu yang kuingat telah pergi.
Aku adalah pemabuk. Yang selalu menenteng sebotol arak, bermabuk di tepian jalan kehidupan. Mengambil jeda diantara kalimat-kalimat mencela dan busuk, yang tergelincir masuk ke dalam telingaku.
Botol-botol inilah sang penawar, berminum pula para nabi terdahulu menyesali umatnya, sedangkan aku?
Menyesali kalian.
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 12:30 PM UTC
Mendengarmu berceloteh,
Daun telingaku kian mengecil,
Menciut sesak dalam lubangnya,
Hingga tiada bunyi menggugah pikiran.
Memandangmu beserta materimu,
Kelopak mataku tak kuasa terbuka,
Ku paksa terbelalak, menatap tajam,
Sampai pandanganku kosong hampa.
Menghadiri kelas mata kuliahmu,
Detik jarum jam seakan tertidur tuk berdetak,
Ruangan seakan penuh dengan jeritan jiwa,
Tinggallah hasrat untuk kembali pulang.
Wahai bapak dosenku,
Adakah engkau menawarkan air di panasnya hati,
Akankah kau menabur harum bunga di otak yang usang,
Atau apakah rasa jemu takkan terganti?.
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 3:10 AM UTC
Bapak, aku ingin pulang
Aku rindu dengan rumah atau ide akan rumah
Tapi kau telah mempunyainya.
Aku rindu disambut harum masakan buah tangan sang Ibu
Tapi kau tak pernah menyicipinya, Ibu tak bisa masak.
Aku rindu berduduk diatas kursi kayu yang terletak di ruang makan
Tapi kau bahkan tak pernah melakukannya. Kau, tak pernah makan.
Aku rindu akan ruang sesak penuh sayang
Akan kentalnya keakraban yang melekat di dinding-dinding bisu;
yang dalam diam mendengar isak tangis setiap manusia yang menjajalkan diri dalam rumah ini
Akan hangatnya cinta kasih yang tergurat diantara bisingnya suara televisi yang kau nyalakan setiap Minggu jam tujuh pagi dan gaduhnya percakapan seorang diri yang terproyeksi dalam tiap benak manusia, lagi-lagi, dirumah ini.
Kau tak akan menemukannya disana
Aku dan Ibumu ini hanyalah tamu
Kau adalah rumahmu
Tapi kau adalah bukan tempat singgah
Badanmu bak ruang luas tak terbatas
Tamu-tamu tak bisa lalu-lalang melalui satu pintu saja
Banyak pintu-pintu lain didalamnya namun tak terbuka
Ribuan pintu tersebut tertutup adanya
Terkunci dengan rapat
Namun kuncinya telah kau telan
Dibalik pintu itu,
Lagi-lagi ribuan misteri
Teka-teki tentang dirimu yang tersimpan dalam boks berbagai macam ukuran
Tersimpan terlalu aman
Jiwamu adalah fondasi
Kebaikanmu harum masakan yang mengundang setiap orang
Keingintahuanmu benda mahal; memikat tamu untuk ingin bertualang ke setiap ruang
Kenekatanmu—sisi Sang Pembangkang yang kusayang—menantang mereka untuk tinggal lebih lama
Empatimu alunan musik yang menyodorkan kenyamanan
Namun parasmu, anakku sayang,
Matras termahal yang membuat mereka ingin menginap
Hati-hati dalam memberi izin
Jaga rumahmu
Bersihkan
Bagiku Istana terbesar di Dunia tak ada nilainya jika disandingkan dengan Rumah yang kau punya.
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 1:23 AM UTC
The yucca plant from my mother’s garden sits
unattended and on the verge of death next to her
eldest rose bush, now wildly overgrown and lightly
blushing in the cosset of the midmourning sun. Its
withered rosettes droop down to its bed of maroon-stained stones
in crisp, harum-scarum patterns as if the plant is spending its life
like currency trying to touch its toes. I oftentimes
find myself wondering if the reason behind this
slow rotting of mother dearest’s garden is hidden within her
five-year absence. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say
her nursery missed the d
i
g
g
i
n
g
of her weathered hands.
She was the biosphere of my world; I suppose that
it only makes sense for the earth to match my thirst. We
sit side by side, that yucca plant and I, as we struggle to
nod our heads towards daylight while we rise on
the side of the house that is more or less
cloaked in shadow; the side that she would sunbathe
on during scorching late afternoons. Perhaps without her
body giving shelter, all her garden is doomed to
atrophy like muscle in the sunlight.
I find irony in the way that my mother’s favored plant
was the “ghost in the graveyard;” a perverted parallel
to the game that she never wanted us to play. I think it to be
sort of sardonic that her pride swallowed the possibility of
a cure being found within that ****** plant’s roots. She,
a third generation American girl,
had blood as muddled as the mud
that buried that yucca’s heart.
The boundary line between Mother and
nature coalesces into one:
Gaea
six feet under
melting into soil
I hope she becomes seawater.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 1:41 AM UTC
It was so hard to put in words
Tho I spoke to you when idle ears were far from my lips
When words flowed like a river
Like a river yes and still but your beauty is my sun
In your presence only steam pours from me
Your heat burning the shell from my heart
You make me weak
My Venus
I wanted to plough your fertal pastures
Like a good stuard
For its own benefits before my own
You were sharp and curious
Listened intently to my ranting and stared into my eyes
I thought myself weak but you understood better than my pupils
Your apatites reached my ears as a warning but iticed me instead
Your history no surprise or mark against you
I wanted all of you for mine
To make perfect an only slightly tarnished vestal
To complete you in hopes you could complete me
But your eyes cut my soul like a knife without ever seeing it
Your voice crushed my bones to dust with a whisper
Pity
Gref
How low we were when heavens bowed before us
I would have given myself to you in no unbinding terms
But you could not offer the same and I could tell you wanted too
I value your honesty and wish you had lied
Should fate spit on us again in this way
We're I to find myself in your shoes
I suposse I'd recomend Polyamory
I wouldn't take you up on it for him
Then I'm not gay and you never did discriminate
Just saying the world could be my harum
Time and space at my Mercy
A machine in the next room to customize entitys for company
You would be my bottom ***** for life
Given that's as bigoted as an analogy gets
It's coming from a good place
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 6:36 AM UTC
Pernahkah aku menjadi kembang apimu
Meletup-letup berirama
Mempesona penuh warna
Memantik rindu tak kunjung reda
Pernahkah aku menjadi senyummu
Segaris indah warna merah
Membentuk sudut surga
Di atas pipimu yang merona
Pernahkah aku menjadi bungamu
Harum mewangi walaupun sepi
Senyum melekat tiada henti
Bermekaran di relung hati
Atau
Apakah aku ini sedihmu
Terbendung oleh pelupuk
Membasahi mata cokelatmu
Tumpah menyusuri sudut matamu
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 12:45 PM UTC
mungkin akan menjadi cerita ter-lusuh yang pernah aku tulis
-----
ingat ketika aku dan kamu di padang rumput yang menguning?
lalu kita sama-sama terpukau dengan pemandangan di depan mata
waktu itu kita sama-sama tidak berusaha memotretnya
karena masing-masing kita hanya fokus mencari ide untuk memulai percakapan
mungkin saat itu aku sudah terpikir sesuatu untuk aku mulai
tapi lucunya, malah kamu yang memulai percakapan
waktu itu kamu bertanya tentang kehidupanku semester ini
baik atau tidak baik
seperti biasa aku mengumpat, sungguh, tidak baik hidupku satu semester ini
kamu tertawa, entah menertawakan nasibku atau reaksiku
kamu tertawa seakan aku baru saja memberi lelucon terlucu abad ini
mungkin kalau kamu bukan kamu, aku sudah marah
tapi aku justru suka
dan jujur, aku bisa saja bersyukur mempunyai nasib seburuk itu hanya untuk mendengarkanmu tertawa
setelah itu giliranmu bercerita
aku sudah bisa menebak, ceritamu pasti seputar hal yang tidak penting
dan memang benar.....
tapi aku tetap mendengarkan, karena pupil matamu melebar
tanda kamu suka dengan hal yang kamu ceritakan
dan aku suka ketika kamu semangat dalam meceritakannya
aku mendengarkan
-//-
waktu berjalan, obrolan kami mulai masuk dalam topik yang rumit
tentang penciptaan, tentang dunia, tentang alasan kami hidup
biasanya otakku mulai memanas ketika membicarakan hal ini
dengan lawan bicara yang lain
tapi denganmu, aku mengidamkan lebih
seperti perpustakaan yang disinari lampu kuning hangat
dan kutu buku yang tersenyum membaca tumpukan buku harum
setelahnya...
Jan 5, 2020
Jan 5, 2020 at 11:23 AM UTC
Pertama kalinya kugenggam tanganmu
Satu kembang api dipantik dari ulu hatiku
Seribu lainnya menyusul saat jemari kita saling bertaut
Menghiasi langit malam dengan pendar menggoda
Hitam pekat dibasuh percik api warna-warni
Kusaksikan dengan jelas saat kutatap wajahmu lekat-lekat
Kala itu tak satupun kata berhasil kita ucapkan
Namum dalam hati, tiap detik kulayangkan ribuan doa
dan segala mantra :
"Tuhan sang empunya dunia ini, hendaklah hentikan waktu sejenak untuk hambamu ini. Atau panjangkanlah malam sebelum mentari terbit nanti. Terima kasih Engkau turunkan bidadari, tepat disebelah hambamu ini".
Rambutmu bagaikan ombak musim panas
Bergulung-gulung indah harum manis bergairah
Namun dadaku layaknya laut dikala badai
Gemuruh layaknya seribu ksatria berkuda
Inginku berteriak sekencang-kencangnya
Gemanya terdengar sampai kampung Ayah-Ibuku
Jikalau nun jauh di belahan dunia sana
Seseorang berhasil menginjakkan kakinya di bulan
Inginku umumkan pada dunia
Malam itu akulah manusia pertama yang berhasil menggenggam bulan
Akulah pungguk yang melawan seluruh hukum gravitasi
Akulah pungguk yang tak lagi merindukan bulan
Kalau saja bisa, saat itu juga
Ingin kutuliskan berlembar-lembar puisi cinta
Ingin kupetik gitar dan bersenandung mesra
Karena bisikan lembutmu melantunkan hasrat hidup
Tatapan sayumu membiaskan mimpi-mimpiku
Senyuman indahmu melukiskan harapan-harapanku
Mimpi dan harapan seorang lelaki biasa
Menghabiskan hidup dengannya, tuan putriku ratuku, malaikatku, wanitaku yang istimewa
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 12:31 PM UTC
When the sun came crashing from the sky
we knew why the oceans all ran dry
and we,
like harum scarum lunatics watched all this, believed it was a magic trick and later it would be alright.
But the night grew strong the longer it went on and we were wrong to laugh and play while everything we had,
faded into grey,then black and we realised it would not be back at the click of the fingers.
Some vestiges of a memory lingers on and fables told are of a day of gold and light and might we hear the story one more time,as told by the old man with more time upon his hands,about the distant lands where men could see,it seems an eternity of gloom has left much room and yet not to expand but contract back into caves, and slaves we were to ever think the madness could go on without some form of retribution,
some divine or godly intervention
an architect whose own invention had been superseded by what those whom he had invented needed?
It's all too late
we'll have to wait for another spot that turns up in a universe,where nothing worse than this could possibly occur
and though the candle is unlit,a bit of it will fall into another lighting of the sky
and once more I'm sure we'll wonder why
the magician always spins a double zero and wins.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 1:50 AM UTC
Rumah joglo di tengah sawah.
Dengan cahaya remang yang berasal dari pojok ruangan ini.
Pemutar piringan hitammu baru selesai kau perbaiki.
Ku memilih untuk mendengarkan album Chet Baker Sings dengan vokalnya, seingatku itu milik mendiang kakekmu.
Gelas-gelas tinggi sudah kau siapkan, sebotol anggur dari Bordeaux sudah ku buka.
Makan malam kita sudah tandas, dua piring penuh berisi daging sapi yang sore tadi ku panggang, hampir matang penuh, bersama hancuran kentang yang sedikit dibubuhi garam dan lada, dengan saus krim jamur.
Jasmu sudah kau tanggalkan dan sampirkan di sisi sofa coklat tua itu.
Gaun hitamku masih rapih melekat pada tubuhku, namun rambutku, yang hanya sepanjang bahu, sudah ku urai, agar kau bisa menghirup harum bunga sakuranya.
Kita menari, pelan, sembari menengguk asam dan manisnya anggur Bordeaux itu.
Ku kira Chet Baker telah letih bernyanyi dan bermain trumpet, suaranya perlahan hilang, digantikan oleh suara jangkrik dari luar sana.
Aku pun lelah, ku rebahkan tubuhku di sofa coklat itu, menyandarkan kepala di dekat sampiran jasmu, menghirup bau cendana yang hampir hilang.
Kau menghampiriku, memelukku erat, menghirup leherku, pipiku, dan mengecup bibirku.
Pelan-pelan, satu per satu pakaian kita tanggal, di bawah cahaya temaram, ditemani suara jangkrik, kita melebur, melebur jadi satu.
Tanah Ubud, tak pernah gagal membuatku jatuh cinta, sengaja maupun tidak.
Jun 5, 2020
Jun 5, 2020 at 1:57 PM UTC
Bacakan untukku tragedi penghancur semesta
Dalam bayang yang merana
Ditengah malam para pendosa
Bacakan untukku kematian yang harum
Melesat masuk kedalam ringkuhnya tulang-tulangmu
Hingga remuk berbutir pasir
Panggil para penguasa dalam mayanya utopia
Biar mereka merangkak disana
Aug 11, 2020
Aug 11, 2020 at 12:18 PM UTC
Seharusnya aku ingat bagaimana penampilanku saat pertama bertemu denganmu
Seharusnya aku ingat kalimat pertama yang kuucapkan padamu
Seharusnya aku ingat harum minyak wangi yang kupakai saat pertama bertemu denganmu
Sekarang aku kebingungan, bagaimana agar membuatmu jatuh hati lagi padaku
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 10:53 PM UTC
We need more Martians , they nattered at me all the time,
More monsters—people like to be scared,
As if those callow youngsters,
Growing up with two cars in the garage
And three sets at the country club,
Their fraternity mixers at Whittier or Occidental,
Knew the first **** thing about terror.
Still, they wanted me to grind out the harum-scarum hokum
They enjoyed watching two-reelers on Saturday afternoons
While men were doing hard work in Leyte and Manila,
As if the transitory fear of some ghoulish bogeyman
Would last through the thirty-second epics
Featuring some cartoon bear shilling for beer
Or bunnies extolling the virtues of toilet paper.
Let me tell you what fear is, I would say time and again,
*It’s a padlocked fence and a smokestack
Which isn’t churning out a **** thing.
It’s the jobs you can’t get because you said something
(And more likely, you didn’t) twenty years ago.
It’s one more envelope from the bank or the phone company
With bold red lettering on the front
That you don’t open because you know what it says
And how it doesn’t matter one bit,
Because you can’t do a ******* thing about it*,
And these promising young men would just look at me
Like I was some poorly made-up extraterrestrial
From one of their Buck ******* Rogers potboilers.
Several of my neighbors here were among the men,
Mostly boys in truth, who marched with the 126th New York,
Taking fire at Petersburg and The Wilderness,
At Spotsylvania and Cold Harbor.
We have spoken about the horrors of war,
The kaleidoscope of confusion and dread,
No direction leading to shelter, no road guiding the way to home.
They have said that, as frightening as the sound of the minie *****
Zipping overhead like malevolent flies,
And the cannon were, what they found truly awful
Was the manner in which those fields,
So like the ones where they had flushed out quail as children,
Became foreboding nightmare landscapes,
Containing a dark madness
That they never dreamed could have existed.
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 10:28 AM UTC
the sonofabitch tremor
from a tall cup of americano
i am somewhere in the heart of Libis
feeling the libidinous snarl
of trucks, the poignant treason
of leaves slamming against each other,
the bamboozle of the youth
this is my 5th poem sliding out
of my whetstone mouth
sharpening the dull blade of tongue
as the harum-scarum of the swivel
door crafts a rising hullaballoo.
spilling coffee on my ****** white
this sonofabitch tremor
terrorizes the purity of the *******
clenched against no succor,
eyes squinting in lachrymose fretting
palpebral shade of tossed out gray
caprice of clouds — no
more coffee
for me,
these words nudging me
keeping me awake with
persistence.
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 2:51 AM UTC
slipshod toboggan feeling
before nakedness reeling
past dried vandals on walls
colorway harum-scarum
entrails of blinded sides
open to eyes and their
possible misconceptions
such that
baring all is showing less
and showcasing more
is no other than pretension
going guillotine
sick or sane in one
asylum afloat
like flotsam there
and jetsam here
hoarded onomatopoeic
cacophony: street beat
back to basic superstition—
no continuations or ellipses
tell-tale that gamblers all
and losers swell, the jazz needed
to synchronize in tune,
an off-beat gyration in split-screen
flat affect. exeunt.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 10:56 AM UTC
New age blindly falling from grace, fighting a hidden enemy
Teen and anxious once the norm now a psych diagnosis, distress taken as some bad label
Faceless facts hard to retract, flashing light world in blight, Harum-scarum analysis isn't reality
Inner truth now given to a mental sleuth, hidden truth never seen, cause and effect does it mentally disable or inadvertently enable
Swallowing knowledge left us choking, repetition offers no variation, life has no on or off switch, harder to remain stable when emotions are constantly displayed openly on the table so irrationally
Paranoid covered in a blanket of fear, selected target our mind now a part of the market, pointing at humans being inhumane part of the game, being playful becoming a lost fable
Why always recall when you're about to fall, simple shuffle of memory cards can show greener yards, following pre-plotted maps leads to another casualty
Not as bad as it appears, forget learning to simply survive, permanent pessimist, Impossible to relax when buried in facts, wasteful worry replacing meaningful ways to remain grateful
Instant diagnoses blown into multi tethered prognosis, finding middle ground when being told you're not normal or crazy leaves many lacking, losing leverage when searching for adequacy
Mass medias senseless sayings gather no moss to keep the blues ball rolling, taking fun from function, new dog and pony show, subconsciously afraid, living life now seen as something fateful
Digging our own graves, personal pall bearers for basic thought, selling freedom for an unfulfilled diagnosis, words a magic elixir, removing ways to face fear rationally
Social wisdom masking the freedom of a child to walk through a puddle instead of a lifetime of insight finding knowledge to walk around them, remembering to smile gives strength to go the extra mile, life on life's terms need not be painful. R.C.
Dec 13, 2021
Dec 13, 2021 at 5:56 AM UTC
Bermekaran bunga mengiringi senyummu
Harum mewangi semanis madu
Rendahkan sedikit sekuntum kelopakmu
Tak ayal kumbang bergemuruh
Semanis madu kau mengundang
Aku terbuai layaknya kumbang
Indah gemulai tak kunjung lekang
Kau ratuku bukan sembarang
Tak kusadar burung berkeciap
Gagah benar paruh mengkilap
Hebat benar kepakkan sayap
Kumbang limbung terbangnya kalap
Bunga indah harum mewangi
Ternyata pandai bermain api
Tak disangka membakar janji
Batang indah bertumbuh duri
Kumbang sesak terbangnya lirih
Perihnya hati dusta sang terkasih
Berharap terang hujanpun masih
Berharap lekang sayangpun masih
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 12:19 AM UTC
Eclectic as long as I recall
labeled weird by peers
nothing could wipe
the smile of all 32's ...
Scanning for tunes
memory lane
some frightening
many sweet....
from Procol Harum
to James Brown...
Flashbacks ~
A happy "pool rat"...
AM lessons that led to free swim
followed by team practice
and night swim...
Oblivious to the
burnt out shells
~vestiges of the summer of '65.
Heavy police presence
Ghetto birds
day and night...
Coalescence
willfully ignoring the horrendous
savoring the sweet....
the boy around the corner
who broke into song
each time I walked by
"My Cherie Amor..."
Dancing in the street,
the parks
where ever a boom box bellowed...
Cheap wine
blissful ignorance...
all revisited
thanks to a song.
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 12:47 PM UTC
I hate spring
hatching eggs
chirping birds
and blooming flowers
especially the disparagingly
flourishing violet-blue, harum-scarum hyacinth
despite your aching absence
Apr 23, 2021
Apr 23, 2021 at 4:20 AM UTC