underfoot
you are a sweet october, leaving all
too soon. my favourite seasons always walk
the quickest, the orange garnish falling
without a pleasant ending. i must stop
building homes behind unstable ribcages -
their branches are too eager to change
and i feel my own bones before they break
like twigs. i beg the clearest skies for rain,
but my inner workings do not matter.
i’m not meant to last until spring. you sap
the colour from my leaves, watch them scatter
to the wind. and you. searching for untapped
roots as my own turn to whispers, bitter,
as every season leaves them to wither.
25.02.2019
