trumpet honeysuckles
in fire pink and yellow
drape over cement
in anarchy.
i remember summer last
and it is spring
with a new coated fig tree
and trails of jasmine.
the suburb swirls with sound
and i cannot help but fling open windows
despite the warnings.
there isnt any harvest yet
there arent fresh picked apples
and wine
there are puppies, and shopping lists
and traffic
and a welcome mat.
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