Author’s Note: I am not good at consistency but bear with me

Oh, Omnipotent Spring,
You, with endless raindance thirst (and must pocket the sun before the clouds feel safe enough)
You, with insects buzzing through my coolly widened window; the insomnia dissects, makes a nest out of their still-struggling spindles, and spends the night as if invited
You, chasing holdinghands with religious jealousy as if it were something I seek
You, with detached fingers pressing me far too close to eggcooking pavementlines,
How I despise thee.