 |
| the leaves
and i have fallen many times, season into season, and each time we have relimned our veins, our pulse in moonlight and not-always-gentle longing for the sun to scorch our blood on breeze in rain and songs, hidden from the static dead who, |
| crippled on
their stolen treasures, toothless dragons rigid in dark crumbled caves, are untouched by colours of the moon or sun so the leaves and i will keep on falling time and time again |