Spring is Here

The moon was a little restless last night-
He tried, several times, to peek through
My window, where I sat resurrecting
Dying symphonies - Running antiquated
Needles of joy through dark unseen sheets
Bloodied patchworks, clammy with sweat,

Dusty with neglect, with no outlines, no boundaries-

Much like our silhouettes that we found
Intertwined as we lay writhing in newfound throes
Of lust, passion and fruition.

The moon was green last night, I saw-
A little peek, when you stood on your tiptoes
To kiss me a last goodbye. It fumed, ran leaves

And strong winds on my path home -
Its acerbic rays could only massage my skin
As I danced, on music you filled inside me.
The stony burrows of silences, the frigid caves of gloom

That I had all known so well, stood all bathed in green- 

Sprouts of little conversations dotted their walls

As I vowed to nurture them, forevermore.

And as nights rolled into days, and my red eyes
Matched the discarded scripts my begrimed pen wrote-
The moon told of its jealousy to the sun,
"Why must I roam the night skies alone?"

The scorn brought clouds, and the sun powerless-
Only shone in glimpses, as the wind took over
And gloomy rains enveloped my world.
I however sat, in my room, thinking of our moments
Cocooned in safety and wonder- and music-
And wrote but three words, "Spring is here."