It's April snow when the first words hit the page.
I run from line to line, tasting the cold / the aberrations

the snowflakes melting on my tongue, these chewy words, this watery English

In storm:
Flurries hit cement, smack against buildings
uniqueness lands on my car window - dribbles down tracks of itself

Self, self, self, self, self
All collected like that.

In April, nothing sticks, it's all amusement.
Splatters the world in sugar, but leaves no cake.