Now We Are Cold

Autumn, drying leaves,
fallen apples rotting underfoot,
sullen teens attending
to bitter, underloved instructors.

The horses at their paces,
steamed breath pressed out
from heated tunnels into colder air,
like a dying dragon's last smoke 
flowing 
from within buried caverns.

This bitter liver,
swollen, the dull right ache.
Lager and cider -
wet blankets for burying hope.

Into
this forever fall -
crooked fingers,
bent like empty branches,
to your empty shoulder -

It is so easy to forget
how intimacy fled,
and hid
amidst the mountains overhead.

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