She was the first breath of spring
puncturing a stubborn morning frost.
She was jazz blooming from blues,
she was sacred verse bursting from psalm.
She was unrefined snorts and belly-laughs;
she was knowing eyes that knew better.
She was a midnight pub-crawl;
she was of pre-dawn shared comfort food.
She was nothing imagined
and everything desired;
she was love’s bloom; a promise kept.
And I am the fool hunter
who grasped at her corona,
eternally driving her from my reach.
Yes, I’m still overdosing on Hamilton. I’d ask Wifey to intervene, but we’re on this bender together. I have no regrets.
I’m sure we’ll return to normal soon, but have you seen my country’s normal? I say, let’s take all the manufactured joy we can get.