dropped fruit

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about forlorn love

 

falling grace destroys

May eyes.

November's thrill

of cold nights 

made warm by

coupling

is

distant now

past the April

fawning. As I failed

when rampant sap

slamming into buds

forcing tender tips

into still harsh 

winds.

my eyes shut tight

coward's that feared 

tears made sharp, as

ice, would slice

your beauty from

perception.

single sensed you are not.

blossoms scent carried you away.

Flush of palest green

became a tender pastel of

pinks with deep set dark

honey centres.

They fell in May. I gathered and

as fool grabbed handfuls to fling

in air commanding they stay there.

again.

you. gravid. new grace. Swelled

rosy cheeked preparing to fall.

 
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