𝐉𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 ― poetry book

005.

SPRING

spring is sticky like the shirt to your back,
covered by a coat and weighed by bags and rucksacks
with a scarf 'round your neck because your mum told you so-
only to take all of that off, as you walk home.

spring is the glare of a sun that shoots across the bridge,
headphones filled with music as knees wobble, boots stomp
and cars race by with a tote slipping from your shoulder
and a plastic bag twirling around your fingers, turning tips bright red.

spring is the silence of the road as you walk home,
keys jingling in hand on a lifeless cobbled road
with some bounce in your step as a bright gust propels
you homebound to drop your bags, flop down in your bed and sigh.

spring is lethargic like the last leg of the day,
pencil in hand as you bounce your leg in some
dusty old classroom, shakespeare decked across the walls
in a building full of old doors and ancient dusty floors.

spring is dewed like the grass once bitten,
the soft sinking of mud as you cross the lawn
arm in arm with some girl you don't know because
the fire alarm is ringing and the chatting is infectious.

spring is the feeling you get in some song
and some walk home with a laugh at the tip
of your tongue and a sheen of sweat that cools your
forehead as you walk home.

spring leads you like a compass-
one that points you home.

for spring, you great unspoken masterpiece:
how i adore you so.