melancholy

endless winter that looks
and feels
like spring, stop taunting me
with your well-behaved afternoons,
your smug trickery, tempting me to feel as though
love blooms beneath your shallow topsoil
waiting to thrive within
the complex mess of guts and glamour
i house amidst my ribs
though i beg you not to forsake me, i feel it
only wise to remind you of my fragility
and the bruises that have swelled here before
in your name

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