I found out that I’ve known
The language of the autumn
All along
But she couldn’t handle
Her own
Transitive verbs
And the silent consonants,
The stressed vowels
That brought her sorrow
I was pure torture when
I spoke to her
With a passion that
Shed her chills
In cold tears
Stabbing shards
Crashing in my ribs
I was our undoing
Inevitable as winter