Sometimes Spring walks on tiptoes to your bedroom, slips in, and shuts the door behind her.

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Sometimes Spring walks on tiptoes to your bedroom, slips in, and shuts the door behind

her.

Because the underworld gets so lonely.
Because she cannot suck pomegranate seeds for every meal.
Because she tires of bathing in the River Lethe each morning.
Forgetting is so monotonous,

And she wants to remember everything.
So she curls up with you under the covers, and when you wake up flowers grow
from each pore of your skin.
The sunshine never tasted so good.
You feel like every color that you have ever seen on the television.

And she wants to remember everything.
So she curls up with you under the covers, and when you wake up baby rabbits hop
from your ears.
Fields of grass never looked so much like all of your childhood homes.
You smell your father brewing coffee and reading the newspaper at the breakfast table.

And she wants to remember everything.
So she curls up with you under the covers, and when you wake up lakes form

in the palms of your hands.
Boats never felt so much like your life line, your fate line, your love line.
Fish wiggle through your bloodstream like having chills on a warm day.

And she remembers everything.





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