in his eyes rests the rolling underbelly of spring, trembling and restlessly burgeoning, where the blossoms die and the death is disrupted with the violent ardency of blossoming. splendor is the sweetness of his laugh scraping against a throat stinging and split; the subtle furling of his shoulders when he smiles. brittle and wild, he wrestles with the sun until it sears and lightens him, then kisses sorrow with a mouth untrembling
☽
