a false spring comes
around and around again,

that metallic taste
of blood still in my mouth

from cutting my gums
on my own teeth,
the dream i
keep having
where i claw through
a mattress in chains

by the time we are sitting on benches
exchanging the gifts not given
when it was important

it is only important to remember the
weather we’ve already suffered,

to bite through the foil and swallow
our blood back alone