Springtime

I hate the spring

I hate the way it rings

The way the flowers bloom

And the fat bumble bees zoom

I hate the way you wear tank tops

And we go visit snack shops

With your weird and quirky friends

Who aren’t afraid to lend

A safe, supporting hand

On the small of your smooth back

I feel the odds against me stacked

And my heart is in your soft palms

Every touch from you a tiny bomb

I feel the terror shoot through my veins

But something different inside me chains

the very fear that drags me down

A ray of sun like a golden crown

That sits atop your dark head

And suddenly it starts to spread

Down through to the tips of my toes

Whenever you come too close

And I try to remember why

The spring ever made me sigh.