On the roofs

February. Get inked.
Get soiled. Coffe darken lips.
And all the sparklings
and all the ticking.
Colours burst
under my watch
into familiar fragrance.
The spring is sneaking up.
On us.
Crushing into my walls
into my bed.
I can feel her blooming
on the streets
and on the short dresses.
Stay here
white heavy snow. Here
and now, stay.
On the roofs and on the palms.
Don't bloom
yet.