My love, the month is here:
Can you hear
The cacophony of harmony?
The harmony of dissonance?
They come to greet us, but
we sit on our feet, and
on the Bermuda grass we sing, we sway with it as
you hold a yellow rose,
and I hold a plumeria,
You grip me with thorns,
And I do it with my rebirth.
Voilà! These flowers of us will bloom,
from every strand of our hair to the footmarks,
and April will be our dress.
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