The Season of Discontent

Raindrops drum against the window’s skin,

and spring threatens with blooms that suffocate—

I remember summer’s breath, hot and choking,

where laughter drips like syrup, too thick to swallow.

Gasoline and flowers mingling sweetly,

a memory wrapped in sunlight, too alive,

and there I stand, petals wilting on the sidewalk,

watching each blossom wither under heat’s cruel glare.