With each leaf a face of dryer future falls reflects the prolonged fixing and fiddling of limb and ground.
I step cautiously, hearing you beneath my shoe. Upon your spine, I search for strength.
Your breath crumples with a sound of what was and is to come; an aging, mingled with every smaller wobble of the globe.
Lovers never smile when they have fallen ,always look for spring as redemption until the rain disappears.
Wind carries your face adrift. Dust is never far.
If my blood could wake you, I would let you suckle my salty oil until bees’ lips turned red.
If my wet mouth quenched you, I would kiss you with sugar saliva until your skin revives.
But there’s so many who fell like me.
I can’t caress the world back to fresh buds or even hold it safe within my drying veins.
Flowers run rampant in the meadow. Beetles and caterpillars hang on for life.
I swear the swiftness of the planet’s spin sends petals flying.