She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

Apples
on
Adam's
fig
leaves
over
Eve's

i breathe in pain
and exhale art
i smoke freedom
to handcuff dark

brush stroke feelings
flit my escape
i shift notion
like fire flies

yellow shades blue
our canvas dies
i am in lieu
do not revive

Why is poetry dying
when we still have the gift?
If we still have water
then we still have a ship.
We can sail to the places
these words take us.
We are still shaken
by the words that make us.
Why should we let poetry die
when there is so much to explore?
If only people read it
and discovered more.