Long ago I decided that Spring is just Fall in a pretty dress, and I saw you as the same. It’s the tart taste of unrequited love. Like how your hands looked the same as they did in my dream, the one where you killed me with false prophecies. But here in the garden, cherry blossom petals float away to find their way back to the Earth. Creating a veil of pink sugar, as I crawl on my knees towards nirvana. Dirt married to my skin from uncovering you from the fresh gravesite. The mourning dove sends a warning, I should know better. And yet, I await the blooming tides and I will call you again and invite you over for coffee and I will open the window and I’ll tell myself that I can try again tomorrow and tomorrow until I finally release your black tar from my blood.