This morning spring came,
breeze mild and buds sprung into wide-open blooms
hungrily asking to be pollinated.
I made love to a sixty one year old woman
her belly is a yellow jelly mountain,
her thighs are made of shivering cellulite
and her Venus is a bottomless well of nothingness.
Later that day
I walked past a dead tree
that would never feel the spring
and no birds shall ever sit on its drying branches
singing the young year in.