April You Poem by Tom Hamilton

April you
throw your waste paper pillows,
like the billows of smoke from the pipes of far beings.

Meeting the breeze is the breath of her lover,
his equator heat fights for our hot summer peace.

Sports cars will spit up the fog of smog warnings.
then burn them away in tornados of steam.

As Spring gets her ring like love skin at morning,
mimics the clouds with twin breathless cream.