Springtime in Moscow

It’s a temperate day in the end of April.
We’re in the car, an A&W drive-through,
the morning downpour has reduced itself
to a light trickle and synthesized
beats of the 80’s are pouring
out of my phone’s speakers
into the air surrounding
us, inside the vehicle,
you are an obsession
as the yellow and red tulips are dying
pink and white sprout up
all over town, this transaction of colors.
The only beautiful things I can name,
born from grey skies, like all
that I have come to love
and lost beneath heavy-handed clouds.