october
10/29/2004 02:50 a.m.
you say my name carefully,
gently,
as though not to break it with
your tongue and teeth,
as though it is fragile, and
unfixable when broken

but i assure you that
you could say it like a dirty word
and it would still sound delicate;
i mean to tell you that the way you feel
is seen through the transparency
of your words

*

october sits heavy on my lap,
the air icy and smooth to my lungs,
and through my veins

and october used to bring
the warmth of your breath
and the grace of your secrets
(the silence of your words)

but leaves are changing
with each morning,
turning beuatiful and then crumbling to
a powder like dust or dirt

and you see me with new eyes
this october
and everything you've said
has had its luster weathered down

a yellow leaf in a home of grass tells me
i should get used to what it feels like
to be alone, but—

sometimes when i wake up
and october says good morning
i think i will still have
your secrets to keep me warm

(promise by november
things will be different)

*

haha. this is what happens when i'm forced to write in english class. things get drawn out like crazy and worse and worse and worse...