You withered from me
like a change of season.
I grieved and thoughts of you fell
like leaves; soon brushed
tidily away from my life.

Though, I still find traces of you –
little crumb-like memories –
their welcome overstayed.
Not all of them are murderous
as you. Some are nostalgic flames.

Flames I must overthrow
for my own good. Embers of desire
I must put out and put down,
afraid of what would recur
like an unforgiving forest fire.

I wish I could freeze
every memory of you
and shatter each one into nothingness.
Even though I am sure they would thaw
and seep back through my skull.



One thought on “Season

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