The morning is misty.
I’ve been here before.
The place where I wait quietly
for the first leaf to fall,
starting its descent into autumn.
6 a.m. feels damp and gray.
And I’ve been here before.
The place where I know for sure
there’s no use denying
my recycled skin is still my own.
The fog is lifting.
I was here just last year.
Watching in solemn silence
as the leaf slowly fell,
green and lined with pale gold.
The air is cold.
I know this place.
Soon, your essence will creep out
like melted chocolate
through my new second-hand pores.
The trees stand tall.
I’ve been here before.
And once again I start my countdown,
watching the first leaf
glide gracefully towards the ground.
It’s a beautiful morning.
But I’m in that place again.
The place where I wait quietly
for my heart to fall,
starting its descent into autumn.