She was the rain
when I was spring
but summer became I,
alas it was just a fling

Naked branches in a
dendritic pattern
fastening on to leaves
as Fall fell.

But drives away the soft snow
the blizzards unwanted
a stormy winter
unexpected

Skyward, the dark side of the moon
drawn to the faint traces of light -
continuously teased the edges
of the forgotten surface
obsession consumed I
to start a spin

I grow to become the
hunter only to see
the chamois conquering
my struggle

like an insect trapped
in the strings of
the eight legged
she beast
beating a
rhythmic tune
signalling a
tell
tale
heart

the end of me
no bang
only a cleaver
silently shushing
with an overdrawn
whimper

and
repeat.