Do you remember being April,
When youngish storms blow wild and free,
Like gouache strokes or lines of acryl,
Drawn by old painters on the street?
Does April sing like boiling water?
When Aprils came, temptations grew.
I feel like someone made them hotter…
But who was that? I have no clue!
And yet, I reckon, you remember
How April comes and gently wins
Its time from ice prints of December’s,
Replaced by February’s streams.
I wonder if I’ve ever asked that:
Do you remember being March?
These thoughts of eyes you maybe once met
And lots of “why” to stay in touch.
I know I’ve never sought an answer,
But being May… What feels that like?
When paigles bloom and skies are handsome:
Dark blue, perhaps, but fresh and ripe.
Don’t try to hide what once you witnessed!
Your glance is prose, exact and due.
You know my timeless, funny weakness
To know what’s like, to be the… you. ;)
25.10.2021