The Fall

There’s a crack in your sweet autumn heart.
Gone are the crisp nights and burgundy leaves that filtered through–
now your heart bears dust, ashes, and the hard soil of the ground.

I wanted to kiss that heart; now I must bury it.

But I will kiss it anyway, along with the very thought of you.
Despite the cavity that has punched through–
I’m not quite ready to let go.

I wanted to kiss that heart; now I must bury it.

Your sweet autumn heart deserves a glass box
set under the highest oak tree in a New England scene where I will walk through–
where I can watch autumn descend upon you.

I wanted to kiss that heart; now I must bury it.

But I won’t.
Not yet.

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