Do you remember that fuzzy winter
when the deadness of the world beckoned us
to paint it with over-zealous emotions?

Running amuck with color:
beautiful, bright, painful
with life in it.

We brushed the bare branches
with cherry blossoms
and the mud with green velvet carpet.

And it was so much more lively 
than the real world.

This place, where blossoms look like snow
on a blanket of grass,
was the only place we could be.

Until spring came-
with life exposing.

Fearful, we tainted it black-
choking ourselves...
leaving only void.

Where two pale, naked bodies
lying on shredded forest blanket
dusted with white paint

wishing

for one real thing.