Lilacs
The night is sick with lilacs
fat and sloppy they drool their scent on the sidewalk
I trip in their filthy memories
they days when scents meant scents
when I could pin the sheets on the line
and stumble over to the neighbors' bush
and think of sweet dreams
marked in the pillows
the purr of lilacs laced into the linen
so all night long I could breathe in
something wondrous something
filled fat with the juice of clouds
something so purple so full of plant blood
that I would sleep awash in the scent of you
and now you're dangling down to the pavement
hanging around everyone's yard and
I hate you
I hate remembering all the days I waited
for you to crash and bloom
and I have to recollect
the breathing in
the scent of daring of believing
of popping open my lungs to fit you in
but now I know
your raggedy promise of bloom and go
your rotten job of reminding me
I believed in stuff
like spring
 
spacer