perennial spring

Amazing poetry shared by a talented writer.

Anna Yang

the sky is frozen at dawn,
masked by gray smokescreens
drifting down the neighbors’
sloped rooftops and hovering
between the tips of budding lemon
trees. a ghost’s breath emerges
from my set of parched lips, that i
imagine as the hydrangea’s sweet
blush rising from my neck,
when i reach my fingers towards
the fading moonlight. memories of
a quiet summertime brings the smell
of lavender caressing my cheeks
and blackberry juice kissing my fingers;
the sickly soft breeze flows through
my hair and brushes it back until
i can only feel the mist settle onto my
eyelashes — but
it’s the hum of distant honeybees that
carries me back from the moment
that is not mine
                            to keep.

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