It was a brief respite between summer and autumn
Where our love fell to the wayside of the far road,
the path less traveled,
and we were no strangers to the yellow wood.

We fed off the high, but serotonin depletes.
You left with my voice crack with fond bleats.

Walk out the glass, wait out the fire.
Bury me for necking on the
beckoning of
a long lost romance of mourning frustration.

Bled stone as thrown
through the walls of your frank emotion.

"*******."
Alright, honey. If you say so.
And when your storm cracked our oar,
we filled to the brim
with saltspit of breeze and bubble.

Our wood rot and mildewed.
So we hanged it all up.

Chase ghosts as an albatross hangs low on the horizon.
Sea and sky meet with no seam.
Let us drift to that beauty.