dead leaves tell the tales of reaping nature:
that night we walked, i never knew -
never would have guessed -
that your floor was once covered
with dead leaves, branches
and a season - the summer is so cruel
sometimes, the heat and anticipation
really takes a toll on the idle mind
still i never thought of you, walking,
writing and pushing, pulling and holding
on to something soft, something yet-to-firm-
up within, something that you perhaps miss
but something to whom you bid good riddance;
though what is good if not built to better?
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