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.