May blossoms everywhere
pink and bruised.
a full, bulbous heart.
torn,
trampled pulp of
fleshy petals on the sidewalk
bleeding into
the thick veins
of summer’s gleaming cobalt.
watering the day
with the
timbre of another lie.
night buzz and
stagnant warmth, hung
a secret laden
with humid pain
and his laugh.
vacant sorrow that
laid a stone with
belief.
May’s tale is
May’s shame.