Summer is a line from my chest to yours that tautens as I move closer, as you reel me in. A setting sun’s indifferent angles’ shifts bring colder times as you pull away, as I stay in place. Autumn’s ever-changing colors, commit to one: jet black. Snap. Fall back. Unloosed from ties that bind. Years of choices, scripted fates, planning pointing unknowingly toward one small part of a much bigger destiny: just mine. This is a low point, this is post-fall. This is the brutality of time passing too slowly, too quickly fading away.
Winter’s fix: a snowflake. Complex, unidentical, quickly melting between fingertips. Whitewash in aggregate, but too hopeful, too heated body’s grip’s too tight, too fast: clear-coating. Hungry eyes can’t learn to wait: melting quick-fixes, blurring to new mistakes. After is a resurrection, after is the spring. Not healing, but reborn. Not fixing, but restarted. Moving on and moving away. Up, up, up and floating. I lost my grip, I lost my hold. Forgetting the bigger picture, for a self-doctored centerfold.