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Perhaps, April May~
~~~°~~~
Oh, thine prickly
twine betwixt such
brittle ribcage.
Trapped bird
of song longed yearning,
periwinkled
in hue.
It is with
solemn slumber,
to bargain
what one covets
in gilded silhouettes.
To dream
the apparition
into warmth
beside me.
But, alas
I'd keep it
in a jar
along with
my many
silent mornings.
Encase
the urge
to borrow
sunsets
and stop
time from
turning.
~~~°~~~
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