Poetry by JC Snyder

oh certain first spring nights
the tree blossoms
have this sticky sour smell
that wafts joyous
with grilled meats smoking

oh inhaling, inhaling till
i’m back in a thousand memories
and you’re with me

all of you are with me

oh how the sliver moon full of shadow
witnesses the
scented blindfold
take my arm, lead me
home.