Four Seasons
Published in
1 min readOct 8, 2018
I breathe and the
Words come to me like
Cherry blossom to busy
Tokyo streets in March
Beautiful and temporary
You ask me for a chapter
But the prose is idle as the
Temperature climbs and
I sweat with the humidity of
Your discreet implications
Autumn colors came like a
Wanton guest begging to be
Stitched into the summer
Stories that my pen
Had not yet finished
You look at me with ice glares
That the coldest winters
Have yet to visit in my
Hibernating heart as it
Waits for spring
