Your heart drips colors that allows blue
to coccoon to violet, and those shades harmonize
into a cascade of an eternal summer. Your heart
radiates warmth and listening to your pulse melts
the snow that thawed the rosemaries I planted
in the crevices
of my mind.
I laced my fingers in yours and thought to myself
how I often fell in love with words. And god,
your words were beautiful. It was obvious that
I didn’t fall in love with you,
quietus: death or something that causes death, regarded as a release from life.