May

The last drop at the bottom of the bottle…
(You are)
I watched the river draw a scarlet fade, as though roses could spill their blood diluted for consumption
(Would it be more palatable in pale?)
A vacancy, this place, the bar stool never occupied
I feel the haze of winter snow muddied by summer wishes, as it pulls my consciousness away
The soil that nurtured every Spring blown leaf (you are…)
But no one understood the tarnished bruise a petal wore to speak of how you were
I saw the apple peel itself oblivion and fate combined (imagine that, I felt it)
Come what, May? I ask the void
(I drank each drop to never find you)

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