Do southern winds smell the same to you,
when morning stirs you with cold lips
and do the sheets force immediate retreat
from my side, where each seam of sanity, rips
How does a friendly Spring warm you,
now that Autumn's dry memories hollow out bone
Does wine befriend your veins, like slugs friend tulips
Is there refusal to migrate, leaving social birds to flock alone
And when the hands of fate, open the closed gate,
Do you allow thieves to borrow colors from the skies,
to drain the lullabies from freshly born leaves,
allowing dirty hands to feed you bits of tangled lies.
When southern winds smell the same to you,
because a masked morning stirred a foreign pot
Do the nutrients of a familiar path dance in your vision,
A path your helpless spirit once eagerly sought...