burnt orange​

 

            slight verdant leaf

 

Umber eyes peer up

through thick onyx frames,

auburn hair on mint sheets,

you bite your lip.

 

            surrenders to

 

Air at twilight gnaws at

nose, ears, spider fingers

waiting for texts back

they know aren’t coming.

 

            burnt orange autumn

 

States shaded cobalt and crimson

map our entanglements,

tracing the way back to that

first night alone with you.

 

            and I think of you again—

 

But rusted-out tire factories

dream of gold-plated coal trains,

and we couldn’t fall apart, because

we never really fell together.

 

            still

​

​

A version of this poem originally appeared in Rubbertop Review vol. XIII, 2022, pp. 45-46.