We call it getting old
But it's just dying
No time for self-delusion
Or kinder kinds of lying
Not for no reason
Is fall my favorite season
The heart's true spring
The crying out of all its aliments
Color-coded as the doctor's
Hands remove my clothes
Exposing the clarity of winter
In my summery bones
I feel riddled with bullets
Like snowflakes falling
While my soul leaps out
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment