Cherry Blossom by Tyree Storey
The kitchen is doused in plumes of flour.
Petals for the worktop, in offering
Something sweet from the fridge,
it spills. Down my fingers echoes of our years.
In every cradle and every note of Leon Bridges spinning.
Coming Home, do you recall it? Our candied summer. In London
bedrooms. Sweat on my brow as we made love. I see cherry-blossom
float through my open window.
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