Saturday, December 6, 2008

november poem

i forgot that i liked writing poetry.

we sing no longer
ice over my favorite tree
too dangerous to climb
and I'm left here
with faded coat and boots
looking up
to where i cannot climb alone
to where
you sit
like we used to in summer song,
but there are leaves no longer
i've taken them all.
your flaws cannot be hidden any longer
for i
am fall


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