Autumn |
There’s so much left unsaid. Raking maple leaves, I remember how we stood in the orchard— the peach you picked bruising in your sudden clench of fist, how your freckling face fell, our love collapsed. My love, if I could have kept us from unraveling, I would have— memories unstitching, lips unmouthing the heat of a neck. Once, you were my making and unmaking. And now, my sweet, my bittersweet, I’m still unloving you. I’m still unkissing your lips, still daydreaming of you as I stand in our hometown, in a pile of crunching leaves. I’m still unleaving. |