dying the small way
brings too much beauty
too much pain, too much beauty
yellow leaves of your hair
falling, turning back clocks for
a little more time, too much beauty
too much painful beauty, like butterflies,
fluttering up behind my eyes,
golden confetti everywhere
but we’re not getting married.
I remember a day, that day, in November
when we were hopeful, one last release,
hopeful that autumn would bring spring forward
a beautiful pain
just this one last time