I hate what follows September,
when you angel wings won’t
lift me anymore,
and I won’t get to explore
the golden corners of
your soul.

I hate this beautiful earth
for ripping you from my
life.

I hope you enjoy those mountains
and think of me when you see the
depth of those canyons –
just as complex as my heart.
I hope you get the same rush
that I did when
your lips grazed my knuckles.