This emptiness that’s devouring me from inside,
is it a yearning for death in my weakened heart,
I wonder as the brittle shell around the vacuum
starts falling down, in pieces, like forsaken paint
from a wall, with years spent in utter oblivion?
Perhaps this is an act of the queen of seasons,
the Spring, failing never to rouse a longing for
the sweetness of her mellow touch on my bare skin,
that mildness of her pretty face within my eyes
and the softness of her warmth on my parching lips!