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Rated: E · Poetry · Romance/Love · #2098393
Associating death with the season and the loss of love that will never return.
When Autumn Comes (An Intractable Scene)

She was standing...there...
beneath the garage gutter
carrying rainwater
into the hard ground,
twenty-four years ago.

I never said it aloud.
Has it been that long
since our last Autumn?

Leaves covered our shoes;
hers canvas, mine high tops,
in thick, wet, cold,
numbing an intractable scene.

I hated the soggy, pimpled
leaves, blotchy and veiny,
for letting her go.

Early, darkness crept in
before I could last glimpse
rich, chestnut orbs,
gleaming unlike faded blue bulbs
now crystallizing in their sockets.

When Autumn comes,
remembrances of death
and hunger for warmth.

Rhododendrons wilt;
flowers won't bloom.
Inedible fruit
like stones wither alone
on sagging branches like mine.

Pines drop brown stingers,
a bed where I should lie.

Her last box packed,
she never came back --
died in Autumn.
You asked me...
What's not to like about this season?

I love her now like I loved her then, maybe more.

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Last year for this Autumn collection before permanent deletion from account.
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