It is autumn now
I want to tell you everything
from falling in love
the leaves have started to shrivel
even the most shameful things
how I wasn’t a good mother
my hair slowly falling out
horrible pink scalp
a buck stands near the hedge
mist gathers in the low places
around tree trunks white and still
there is always a hole
in your sweater, a scar showing through
I love the smell of dead leaves
it’s like trying to pick up water with your fingers
they might get wet, but you remain ever thirsty
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