early spring

the bittersweet taste of march
kisses me passionately
like i have only known
in times of true lust.
a con's drooped shoulders
fingers strumming the only tune
to match the beat of raindrops on glass.
an old obituary
i dust off this time of year
because i promised to never forget
but maybe i need to.
a three man band
cut down to two
if they're still even together.
a tongue too young to taste
flavorless beer from rusty kegs--
but how i wanted it so badly.
my eternal waltz with death
three steps forward
matched by two brisk ones back.