missingnumbers

so we deserve spring. whether or not we get it, well that does depend somewhat on the changing winds, and their tides underneath them, but hell or high water won’t stop me now clinging to the sides of you like a woodpecker, you, oak. you root yourself. that’s how i know where to find you. so it’s april. so winter has finally melted. the air is fresh, the cherry blossom a carpet on the asphalt. pink, and soft, nearly the colour of your cheeks in the cold.