Of This Annum

You dissolved through the haze of summer.

Disintegrating like melanin in my subtle bronze

as months passed on.

You decayed beneath gaps of autumn,

quicker than a pumpkin left to rot.

It wasn't in your best interest

to linger no longer.

In a rush.

Hurrying,

swooping pile of gradient leaves.

Before I exhale a misty breeze...

you evaporated.

Not a trace

of you had

been left with me.

Except a lilac bag,

I can't even bear to look at.

Filled to the rim,

with dried out lavender seeds.

You cleared just as winter came,

now I happen to be numb

outside,

just as I am,

within.